


skate the line with me (let's fall in love)

by andromedabennet



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Alternate Universe - Skating, Athletes, Competition, Dancing, Eating Disorders, F/M, Free Skate (Figure Skating), Friends to Lovers, Ice Dancing, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Inspired by Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue, Modern Setting Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Olympics, Partners to Lovers, Sexual Tension, Skating, Slow Burn, Winter Olympics, World Figure Skating Championships, ice dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 80,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24569989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedabennet/pseuds/andromedabennet
Summary: They skate over to Anya quickly. She stares directly at Clarke, her eyes piercing. “You are in love with him.”Clarke blinks. “Uh, what?” She lets out a little laugh. Deflecting with humor is her only real move. “Have you been reading my diary?”Bellamy laughs a little too, but it’s clear he’s also confused.“No,” Anya says. “You are in love with him. Isolde, when she looks at him, is in deep and passionate love. But it is a tragedy. You need to get into that role. It’s not just about skating powerfully or looking pretty or having your toes in the perfect position. To the audience, you are in love with him. That must come through in the performance. There needs to be more chemistry.”—OR: Clarke has trained her entire life to be the skater her mother has always wanted her to be, but a costly mistake destroys what remained of her passion and her chance at the Olympics. It's only the hope of switching to ice dance that sparks any interest in her, so Abby will just have to accept it. Luckily, Olympic bronze medalist Bellamy Blake is looking for a new partner, and Clarke has nothing but determination and a point to prove.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & Raven Reyes, Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, minor clex@
Comments: 138
Kudos: 335





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes before we start:
> 
> I am NOT a figure skater. Everything I know comes from watching skating videos and google searches. Unsurprisingly, there are a lot of questions that pop up that google isn't very helpful in answering. I've tried to be as accurate as I can, but if it's really incorrect, just imagine we're in an alternate-alternate universe where skating works as I've described it. I tried, y'all.
> 
> It was also really hard to remember what the world was like in 2008-2010, but an attempt at authenticity was made. So many memes I couldn't reference, but I did that for you.
> 
> This story isn't inspired by any one thing. I've drawn from a lot of different sources: Virtue / Moir, Davis / White, the show Spinning Out which I'm lukewarm about, the little I know about Tara Lipinski's career, and various other skating performances as they became relevant to my 4 am google deep dives. If it feels too similar to any one thing, it is incidental.
> 
> This story is not beta-read, and thus any mistakes are my own.

There are many, many ways to end a figure skating career.

Clarke isn’t particularly proud of just how many she’s familiar with, even if she isn’t the one doing any of them intentionally. Most people might think that the Tonya Harding scandal was more or less a one-off, something so outlandish in a world of glittering leotards and perfectly executed axels that it was deserving of its own award-winning film.

Only there is no training rink in the country, maybe in the world, that isn’t filled with tired, angry young skaters and their malicious parents who will do anything to translate their years of wasted money into a gold medal. Anything.

At 12, when it became obvious that Abby Griffin’s daughter was making waves in competitions with her strong artistic scores and clean jumps, she was made a target. Sure, she’d been bullied before, told not to get too nervous before trying a triple lutz because she _definitely wouldn’t mess up_ by the jealous mothers of her friends. But suddenly, when it became clear that Clarke, barely 4 feet 8 inches tall and almost all leg, might actually go to Nationals, might have a shot at doing at least moderately _well_ at Nationals… Well, that was the first time her skates mysteriously disappeared.

They were found two days before Sectionals in Josie’s suitcase. Simone liked to claim it was an accident, picking up the wrong skates (extra skates) by mistake and not realizing it. Abby had smiled at her through the embellished and insincere apology, but from that day on Clarke’s training bag came with a lock.

The lock didn’t stop her skates from going missing again on three different occasions in the next several years. Each time, Abby’s smile became more overtly brittle and the calls to her lawyer became longer.

Clarke did qualify for Nationals that year, coming in what Abby considered a disappointing 9th place.

At 15, when Clarke first gained international attention for her triple loop-triple loop combination, being a fore-runner not only for Nationals but for Four Continents and potentially Worlds as well, the treatment only got worse.

She’d known Luna and her mother since she was 8 years old, training alongside her and even carpooling with them from the rink on occasion. The moms were always catty as they watched their children practice, but she never assumed anyone genuinely wished her harm. With Worlds on her horizon though, the others got desperate — the girls practiced harder, ate less, and tried to intimidate her in the locker rooms. But Luna’s mother might have been the worst, standing in the bleachers at the rink and whispering actual hexes and curses as Clarke skated through a rehearsal of her free program. She didn’t fall, but she was keenly aware each day of the eyes that followed her, hoping for the one opportunity to have a jump go wrong and end her season.

Clarke managed silver at Worlds. She was exhausted. Her mother had smiled at her when the scores came in, cameras trained on her face in the audience while Clarke sat with her coach. In private, Abby raged. Not completely at Clarke, but in Clarke’s direction. The _fucking ISU judges_ were wrong to think that the _tramp from Germany_ had a better technical score, but Clarke was also wrong for _under rotating her fucking triple axel like she hasn’t done it perfectly a million goddamn times._

Still, she was standing on a second-place podium in Japan at age 15, so Clarke didn’t actually let herself feel too disappointed. It might’ve been nice to win and then pretend that retirement was an option, but her mother would never settle for less than an Olympic gold, and she had to wait three seasons for that to be on the table. Might as well give herself room to grow in the meantime. Maybe she’d win gold the next year.

Only the next year, which started as soon as they were back in Michigan after nearly 24 hours of planes to get back from Tokyo, was going to be much worse. Abby, like Clarke, had realized that there was nowhere to go in the next three seasons but a little bit up to gold or expanding out (down, she said, was not an option. Clarke had a silver medal from Worlds and now there would be no bronzes). _Expanding out_ apparently involved training and competing in a second discipline, something that almost no figure skaters even bothered attempting. They moved between disciplines frequently, even if it meant essentially relearning how to skate with the new expectations. Singles, pairs, and ice dance all had their own demands, and switching could be an arduous process, but it happened. 

There weren’t many skaters who competed at the highest levels in multiple disciplines at the same time. But Clarke was young still, would only be 18 by the time Vancouver came around and she had her chance to be an Olympic gold medalist. Abby saw no reason not to have her doing pairs in the meantime.

The mothers of the ladies single skaters barely concealed their joy when they heard that Abby had literally paid money to have Finn Collins move to Michigan and train with Clarke — or at least until they realized that none of this was going to stop Clarke from competing as an individual as well. More training time and even less focus on what was essentially her non-existent home-schooling program would allow her to do it all, at least in Abby’s eyes. And if Clarke never had time to do art, or talk to her dad for more than 10 minutes, or _sleep_ … well, sacrifices had to be made.

When the announcement was made that Clarke would be training in both disciplines, Simone made sure to tell her during their carpool that _at least all the extra training hours will help you lose a little weight, dear! You really should watch how many muffins you’re eating!_

Yeah, right. Like Abby would ever allow her to eat a muffin. Josie didn’t bother saying anything, didn’t even look up from her phone. Clarke thanked Simone for the ride home with a fake competition smile and got out of the car.

Suffice to say, she didn’t make anyone happy at the rink that year. 

She’d never been a threat to pairs skaters, so most of them were friendly with her, even if they might have steered clear of actual friendship due out of a sense of loyalty to other friends skating singles.

Except at 16, with an 18 year old partner who was one of the best pairs skaters in America (Abby only paid for the best), suddenly she was a problem to almost everyone. Despite being completely untrained in lifts, throw jumps, and death spirals, she was still a major concern. Even if Clarke wasn’t competitive on her own (she was, even if she wasn’t completely manic about it), her mother most definitely was. With three seasons to prepare her, there were suddenly a lot more skaters at the rink glaring at her during warmups.

There may have even been more hexes, but Clarke had trained herself long ago to stop looking to the stands during her rehearsals. 

The fear had naturally been well-founded. Finn was an amazing skater who worked patiently with her as she learned how to literally let him _throw her across the ice at top speed while spinning_ until she could do that as easily as anything else.

At 16, she managed to win gold in singles and took 5th in pairs at Worlds. Finn was a bit disappointed not to be on the podium after being a favorite for gold before his former partner’s career ending injury, but he knew this wasn’t their season. The fact that they even qualified for Worlds in their first season as a team — Clarke’s first time even trying pairs skating since she was seven years old — was a miracle. No one else from America let alone their skate club managed to outrank them.

At 17, she successfully defended her World title in singles and managed to claw her way up to silver with Finn. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent a full 24 hours away from the rink. She couldn’t remember if she was even doing schoolwork anymore or how her mom was making it seem like she was fulfilling her homeschooling requirements. For her last three birthdays she’d received a mini cupcake with no icing (her mom had cried when a 14 year old Clarke started growing actual breasts — she’d learned to compensate for them in her jumps but her mother never stopped thinking that the exact right diet would give her the perfect prima ballerina body. Thus far, it hadn’t. She tried as hard as possible not to let Abby pull her kicking and screaming into the rabbit hole of body dysmorphia, but no one was making it easy. Still, her results on the ice, breasts or not, made Abby and the other moms shut up at least for a few weeks each year before they went right back to being harpies).

And sure, her only friends were Wells (male singles skater, therefore not threatened by her ability, and family friend, therefore forced to be in close proximity since birth) and Finn (partner, therefore spending approximately 10 million hours with her each year), but that was fine. She was going to be an Olympic gold medalist next season, potentially twice over. She could make friends when she retired from competitions and made all her money doing sponsorships and Stars on Ice.

In 17 years, Clarke had more than made a name for herself in the figure skating world. Her scores had broken records and made history. 

It’s funny though, at least to her, that she doesn’t think of any of these things in the split second that she realizes she’s in a toss gone wrong. She doesn’t think of her medals, of the Olympics in a few months, of Abby and her inevitable rage, or even of all the times the other mothers (and probably their children too) wished that she would just fuck up and fall already.

Instead, she remembers her earliest days of training as a figure skater, five years old and disgusted at the thought of having to hold a boy’s hand and skate alongside him.

For a split second of weightless fear, knowing that her entire career could be ending in a moment, she thinks of Bellamy.

* * *

Clarke and Finn are performing their free skate at Nationals when it all goes wrong. Rachmaninoff is playing loudly through the speakers, the audience spellbound with a performance that has been tweaked to perfection over the last several months. Blood, sweat, and tears nearly every day to create something that looked effortless, and it would be the piece to hand them the gold at the Olympics. She is proud of this routine, knowing it is more challenging than their program last year. She knows that gold at the Olympics this year is entirely possible if they fine tune the minute issues that remain.

She and Finn skate confidently through the first minute of their piece, turning in time on their jumps and executing a perfect backward-outside death spiral. She knows this choreography in her bones, can feel every shift in Finn’s muscles and anticipate exactly how she needs to accommodate him in her own skating. For a moment, even though she is bone tired after winning gold yesterday in singles after months of training non-stop in both disciplines, she feels light. She is swept away in the music, in the performance that she knows the way she knows her own name. Figure skating is brutal to do and beautiful to watch, but for just a moment she wants it to feel beautiful too. Her body is a well-oiled machine at this point, primed to perform perfectly under pressure. She smiles when she catches Finn’s eye going into their next move, and for the first time in a while it feels genuine. 

So naturally it only lasts another thirty seconds before they reach their twist lift, a move in which Finn throws her into the air, she rotates, and then he catches her without her assistance. Twist lifts are one of the hardest parts for any pairs team to execute. It requires perfect timing and trust. They’ve done it a million times.

Only this time, as soon as her body leaves Finn’s hands, she knows something is wrong. He hadn’t used the correct amount of force to give her the air she needs, and her body isn’t on the correct angle, too parallel to the ice to make a clean landing in his arms. She tries to compensate for the height in her twist as best she can, but she’s more or less a ragdoll in this situation.

The calculations fly past her eyes in a fraction of a second. One of the issues alone would’ve bobbled their landing, losing them points on their element. But both problems together combined with what seems to be muscle fatigue in Finn which will hamper his ability to catch her even with a bobble?

She didn’t expect her career to end here, but she suddenly feels such overwhelming dread, like her life is flashing before her eyes, except her entire life is just the fucking ice rink every day for over a decade. The earliest days were the happiest, skating with her neighbor Bellamy. Neither of them had been very good for the two years they’d trained together, but Abby, eager to have her daughter form a pairs team early, and Aurora, a naturally gifted skater and former Olympic hopeful whose career had ended when she’d fallen pregnant at 19, had forced them together at every opportunity. 

She thinks of their showcase dance they’d done, only six years old and dressed as little yellow ducklings. That’s the image she wants to have in her head when it all ends. 

She’s right about her math, even if now is hardly the time to feel smug about it. Finn can’t manage to catch her properly, and as her under rotated body crashes down to the ice, she notices a few things. Most pressingly, her head and left foot _really fucking hurt_. She even idly notices the blood on the ice, though she can’t figure out where it’s coming from. People around her are screaming, and it takes several seconds for the Rachmaninoff to cut out. She might be screaming too, but she’s not sure. Her head is so foggy, and all she can really bring herself to focus on is that memory of the two fucking ducklings skating in their bright yellow outfits.

* * *

The first person she sees when she wakes up in the hospital is her dad, which seems like a surprisingly smart move on her mother’s part. She’s not generally all that great at knowing when her overbearing Olympic dreams are too much for a situation. 

“Hey baby, you’re awake,” her dad says in a quiet voice. His thumb runs idly along her bare right arm in an attempt at comfort.

“Dad? What—” she clears her throat, trying to get rid of the rasp. “What happened?”

He sighs. “The twist lift went wrong. Finn didn’t manage to catch you, and you ended up hitting the ice pretty hard. The doctors say you have a nice concussion as a result. And, uh…”

She feels so foggy still, because of the concussion or maybe some medications she’s been given, but she knows there is worse news. “Please just spit it out. I already have a concussion, and the likelihood of being cleared in time for the Olympics is low, so whatever the worse news is doesn’t change much. My season’s over.”

He takes her hand in his before saying, “Finn’s toss didn’t have enough force behind it, and then you tried to compensate for it in the air. Your rotation ended up being wrong as a result of both factors, and when you hit the ice, the back of your right skate embedded itself in the front of your left skate and right through your foot. It lodged itself pretty deeply. The doctors removed it and did a surgery to try to fix the damage it did to your bones, but you won’t be walking let alone skating until everything heals properly.”

Despite hearing him explain that the blade has been removed, she can’t help but immediately stare down at her feet as though she might see a bright white skate still sticking out unnaturally from where it’s forced itself into her body. She can’t feel any pain, but she knows it must be bad.

She has no idea how to process this news. Her season is over with nothing more to show for itself than two golds at Sectionals and a win yesterday in women’s singles at Nationals. No Olympics, no Four Continents, no Worlds. 

“How long will the recovery take? Can I compete next season?”

Her father smiles sadly. “The doctors aren’t sure. It depends a lot on how it heals in the first few months. But in all likelihood, you might end up sitting out next season too.”

She laughs and it sounds somehow both manic and bitter. “How did mom take that news?”

“She was…” he pauses, looking for the right word, “ah, _disappointed_ about the prognosis. Not with you though. She cursed out more than a few doctors, and Finn’s name is banned from our house for the foreseeable future.”

Her heart plummets. “Oh no. I didn’t even think about Finn. He just lost his chance at the Olympics too.”

“I don’t know that it’ll be a huge concern for him in the next few weeks. He was screaming as soon as he saw your foot. He cried the entire way to the hospital. Poor kid’s probably going to need to take a break and work through some things emotionally before he’ll even consider throwing a partner again.”

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know _what_ to say. Part of her wonders if she’ll need therapy before she can bring herself to get back on the ice again. PTSD is more common in ice skating than people might assume, and lots of skaters struggle to start again after getting seriously hurt. The other part of her wonders if she at least looked cool on all those cameras, bleeding all over the ice with a skate lodged into her foot. The video might live on the NBC Sports page forever. It’ll probably have to include a warning for graphic images. They might even censor it. There could already be tumblr gifsets.

“I guess I’ll be taking a vacation for a while then. No more 4 am wakeup calls in my future.”

Her dad smiles at her, brushing the hair back from her forehead. “No, your mom might let you sleep in ‘til 6. Maybe even 8 in the first few weeks when we can really milk the injury.” She laughs. “You should go back to sleep, baby. You look tired. The doctors are keeping a close eye on you so they said you’re allowed to nap.”

“Okay. Thanks, dad… For, uh, for being here.”

“Of course, sweetie.” He presses a soft kiss to her hair, being careful to avoid where they’ve had to give her stitches to close the head wound.

She’s already drifting back off when a funny thought comes to her. “Dad? Next time I wake up, can I have a cupcake?”

She doesn’t even hear his laugh, a real laugh filled with surprise and joy, or the emphatic _yes_ he gives before she’s asleep.

* * *

She’s allowed to go back home after another day of supervision in the hospital, though she’s on strict bedrest with her foot the way it is. The drive from Spokane to Michigan is a fucking nightmare due to the pain she is now definitely feeling, but it was less hassle than trying to take the flight she’d originally been booked for. At least her dad tried to keep her as entertained as possible over the four days they take to make the journey. It might’ve almost felt like a summer roadtrip if her foot wasn’t useless and it wasn’t January. But beggars can’t be choosers.

When she arrives home, she finds Abby in her own bedroom, arranging the flowers that had been sent to her in the wake of the injury. If nothing else, having a season-ending injury happen in front of thousands of people at Nationals instead of at rehearsal means that the other skaters have to at least pretend to feel bad. The injury will be covered in all sports related news, even if most of the world won’t care much that a figure skater they’ve never heard of ( _because she hasn’t been to the Olympics_ ) got a blade to the foot. And if the general public _does_ find a reason to care, it’ll be for the ick factor of seeing the aftermath of the injury recorded for posterity. People love gross medical shit.

Abby tries to fluff a vase of roses so she can avoid Clarke’s eye. “How was the drive?”

Clarke tosses her equipment bag onto the floor before lowering herself gently on the bed to elevate her foot. Her dad had insisted that he be allowed to unpack the car so she wouldn’t hurt herself, but it’s too ingrained in her to keep her gear on her at all times that she had grabbed that bag on instinct. 

“It was fine. Our motel in North Dakota was tragic, but the others were okay. And don’t worry, dad followed all the doctors’ orders.”

Abby just sighs. Clarke can tell she’s angry or disappointed or _something_ about the situation, but she’s clearly trying not to have a strong reaction about it right now. She’s sure everything will bubble over by the end of the week, but now it’s nice not to be dealing with Abby the Aggressive Former Skater.

“Everyone’s sent flowers and cards. I’m not sure where to put them all.” A practical response. 

“That’s fine, mom. You can take any of the flowers from the girls in our skate club and throw them in the trash. Or maybe the woodchipper.”

Abby cracks a smile. If there’s one thing they can bond over, it’s how fucking miserable everyone at their rink has been since Clarke was 12 years old. No lost love there.

“I’ll do that.” Then she frowns. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, or how much you’ve been checking your phone. After what happened with… with Finn—” the frown deepens, “—Josephine and Gabriel took first place.”

Josie had originally skated singles with her, but had chosen to move to pairs the year before Clarke started dual competing. Simone had probably thought they were getting out of Clarke’s shadow by pairing her up with Gabriel Santiago, a strong pairs skater a few years older than them. As usual, no one was pleased when Clarke and Finn started out performing them.

“So she’s going to the Olympics? The Lightbournes must be thrilled.”

Abby looks like she’s just eaten an entire lemon and then washed it down by shotgunning lemon Pine-Sol. “They won’t medal. They’ve never performed well at Four Continents or Worlds. They’re better this year, but not good enough for the Olympics.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, but Clarke knows her mother is right. They are obviously a strong pairs team in America, never far behind Clarke and Finn’s scores, but they’ve never performed well against teams from other nations. 

They won’t bring anything home, but the Lightbournes will never stop lauding it over her head that _sweet Josie made it to the Olympics before you Clarke, but maybe we’ll all be there together in 2014. And won’t that be so nice? She’ll be able to help you prepare for it._

She can already see the condescending smiles. She can think of at least three passive aggressive responses off the top of her head, which just goes to show how adapted her brain is to this kind of relentless bitchiness. At least she’ll be adequately prepared the next time she sees any of them.

“Anyways, I’ve spoken with Dr. Jackson and he says there are lots of things we can be doing in the meantime for rehabilitation and to keep up your routine. You have an appointment with him tomorrow, and then we’ll get a schedule together for appropriate workouts going forward. There are only four years until Sochi, so we’re not going to waste any time.”

Her smile feels brittle. “Of course, mom. Four years ‘til Sochi. Anyways, I’m going to take a nap, so if you don’t mind…”

“Of course, dear. I’ll let you know when it’s time for dinner,” she says, grabbing vases of flowers and bouquets from around the room to dispose of. She only takes the ones from their club members, and there are a surprising amount still left when she has removed all the worst offenders. The biggest, most gaudy vase is the first to go, and Clarke can only imagine that it's been sent on behalf of _Russel, Simone, and Josie, with love to Clarke as she heals._ Whatever.

When Abby has closed the door behind her, Clarke takes a look at a more modest bouquet sitting on her bedside table. There’s a small piece of cardstock attached to the ribbon holding it all together. When she flips it over, all she sees is

_Sorry about the injury. At least you’ll always know that there will be something fun to see when someone does a google image search on your name._

_Bellamy._

If she wasn’t certain that she only knew one person named Bellamy, she wouldn’t be sure it was him. Since he moved away when she was 7, they’ve barely spoken. They see each other at competitions sometimes, but he competes in a different circuit since he’s living somewhere out west now. They only see each other at Nationals and international competitions. They aren’t even in the same discipline — he’d switched to ice dance years ago and had a solid partnership with Gina Martin. She was fairly certain that Martin / Blake would be representing the USA at the Olympics even though she hadn’t seen the ice dance competition or results. It would be tough to beat the Canadian team who were projected to win, but they would probably still end up somewhere on the podium.

She’s been proud of him from a distance. They haven’t had a conversation longer than a passing hello in a few years, and she knew fuck all about ice dance despite it being the last of the four figure skating disciplines, but she knew he and Gina had been working their asses off to be in the same league as Team Canada. American teams had never medaled in ice dance before, so anything in Vancouver would be a step up.

She picks up her phone and tries to find his name in her contacts — checking _Bellamy, Blake,_ and even _annoying duckling pain in my ass_ , but she doesn’t have anything that looks like it could be him. She hadn’t realized how long it’s been since they’ve been close. After he moved, they did try to keep in touch, though they were never best friends to begin with. Their partnership was always something promoted by their parents that they simply dealt with, and when it became clear that it had to be broken due to the move, there hardly seemed to be much reason to stay in close contact.

Still, she wishes she could thank him and wish him luck. She’s not even sure she wants to torture herself watching the Olympics this year, but she might try for him. Maybe she’ll just watch men’s singles and ice dance, the two sports that she isn’t conspicuously absent from.

Although it could be fun to get some sickening schadenfreude watching Josie and Gabriel not medal. She never claimed that she was entirely the bigger person.

* * *

The Vancouver Olympics come and go, and within a few months the whole hoopla is mostly put aside as everyone starts working towards their 2011 programs, hoping to win big again at Worlds. She knows there are already a few skaters putting specific lifts and music aside for Sochi, not wanting to waste their best ideas 3 years before they’ll get a chance to be Olympians.

Wells managed to perform well in the men’s singles, taking silver. Bellamy and Gina got bronze, putting America’s ice dance team on the Olympic map for the first time ever, though it’s not a shock for anyone that follows the sport closely. They’ve been surpassing the Europeans in the last few years simply due to how many talented Russian coaches have moved to North America.

Josie and Gabriel come in sixth. Abby sends the Lightbournes an Edible Arrangement to congratulate them on a ‘great attempt’.

Clarke is still healing, but she can walk again. Dr. Jackson even allows her to do some light skating, though nothing too strenuous. She won’t be doing any jumps for a while, which is just fine by her. She can’t even imagine even attempting to do something like that again after how disastrously things went last time.

Abby decided not to treat Clarke in any meaningful way for the injury-related PTSD, assuming that when she was cleared for jumps again she would either do it or her coach Nia would make her on pain of death.

The worst part of it all was that she hadn’t heard almost anything from Finn. Her mother said he had spoken to her about potentially ending the partnership if Clarke needed to take another year off. It was supposedly for practical reasons — _Finn is in the prime of his career, and if he’s going to be ready for 2014, he needs a few years to work with a partner to become attuned to her_ or some bullshit. 

She understands the logic; pairs sports require a lot of trust, communication, and the ability to work through the logistics of having to train together constantly. 

She might’ve even agreed with him, not wanting to hold back his chances for future success since he wasn’t at all injured and her season was in question, but he hadn’t even reached out since the fall. It’s not that she wanted him to feel guilty, but she’d definitely expected him to care.

In their first year when they’d unexpectedly qualified for Worlds, he’d kissed her. She’d assumed it was a heat of the moment thing and was just glad he hadn’t done it near any cameras. They hadn’t spoken about it, but after their performance at Worlds in which they’d come in fifth, he kissed her again. She was so glad that he wasn’t disappointed at being held back by her that she’d kissed him back. 

Abby would’ve killed her if she knew. Pairs should keep their work and personal lives separate at all costs. Finn Collins was a friend, sure, but he was first and foremost a colleague. Her successes in pairs were tied to him and their ability to get along. Throwing in romance could be the death knell of a good partnership.

They slept together a few times after that, and though it was never serious, she did grow to like him as they trained the next year. By the time they were back at Worlds in 2009 and nabbing a silver medal for themselves, they were regular fuck buddies, though she was always certain there were feelings being concealed on both sides. It felt easier at the time to not say anything that would potentially disturb the balance they’d managed to make work between them. They never went on dates, but they were exclusive. It was unconventional, but their lives were unconventional and it worked for them.

She’d naively assumed that, after he’d accidentally _broken her open_ in front of a live audience and panel of judges, he would try to talk to her or comfort her or do literally anything that expressed care for her wellbeing. 

She’s heard that he’s tentatively rehearsing with a 16 year old named Monroe in Minnesota, seeing if they’ll be a good fit. After all, he wouldn’t want to completely dump Clarke as a partner until he’s sure he has something lined up of equal value. She rolls her eyes. Considering he’s nearing 20, he better not be planning to sleep with his new partner too. Maybe that’s just his M.O.

She turns up every day to the rink, starting before the first session even has a chance to kick off. She isn’t working on a routine or jumps, just allowing herself to get a feel for skating again. Her left foot is far too fragile to do anything that might damage it further.

She spends the rest of each day in the gym, working to keep herself strong. She might not be able to do much on the ice, but she sure as hell isn’t planning to let so many years of work go to waste.

Actually, scratch that. She’d already tried to let it all go to waste. She told Abby two weeks after the Olympics that, with two World titles in singles and a World silver in both singles and pairs to her name along with an array of golds, silvers, and bronzes from various other nationally and internationally recognized competitions, she could walk away with her head high. She’d never be a household name in figure skating, not like Michelle Kwan had been, but she could easily go into coaching or do Stars on Ice with the accolades currently under her belt.

Abby had steadfastly refused, saying they had all put too much work into Clarke’s career to end it now. The fight had been explosive and exhausting, and while there’s almost nothing Clarke loves more than arguing, there was nothing that could ever convince her mother to change her mind. Unless Clarke was planning to fake her death and escape to Arizona or some other desert wasteland that Ice Queen Abby would never check, then any argument would be worthless. 

So, needless to say, she’s still working out, still on her special diet, and still active all day like she’d been before, just not in any way that could reinjure her foot.

She’s honestly not even sure she wants to go through this all over again for another four years, can hardly imagine trying to balance both singles and pairs. Finn might decide to leave her for Monroe, but it would only make Abby double down even harder on her dream of a pairs gold with a new partner, if only to prove to Finn that Clarke could do anything he could and somehow manage to do it better. There’s never been a rivalry that Abby didn’t revel in.

She’s just glad for the moment that her ice time is limited. The thought of doing a jump, or god forbid being thrown by _any_ partner, makes her want to throw up. It’s hard to gain back that level of trust once you’ve felt how wrongly it can go.

She meets frequently with Dr. Jackson, who seems optimistic that she will be able to compete this season if she just gives herself a few more weeks to make a full recovery. Nia is impatient, not wanting to miss out on the time to be rehearsing, especially as she’ll have to ease herself back into things she hasn’t done in a long time. Ice skating is in her bones by this point, and she can’t _forget it_ in the same way you can’t forget how to ride a bike, but you also don’t go from three months of recovery straight into a quadruple lutz, so she understands Nia’s stress. Still, she doesn’t feel all that concerned about any of it.

She wishes she felt some excitement to get back into training. If there was a spark of joy or competitive energy then maybe she wouldn’t be dreading it all so much. Instead it’s just a pit that sits heavy in her stomach, and every day that she gets closer to being healed the weight grows.

She’s in the gym doing the strength training that her legs need after so long on bedrest when she’s interrupted by Luna and Gaia coming in after the second session on the ice has finished. They haven’t noticed her, tucked away as she is around a corner, but they’ve clearly been discussing their free programs for next season. As two of the older women’s singles skaters, they should theoretically hate each other, or at least have the (un)healthy animosity that everyone else at the rink harbors internally. But since their main rival has always been Clarke rather than each other, they’ve been more or less a united front — with the occasional fights after someone inevitably does a little _too well_ in competition. 

“—and my new coach Titus is a much better fit for me anyway. My axels are already cleaner, and Mother is certain it’ll boost my technical scores enough to put me in a good position heading into Worlds.”

Clarke had heard about the drama with Gaia’s old coach — Indra didn’t mind bitching about how none of these godforsaken coaches understood and utilized her daughter’s abilities. Right after last season wrapped up, there was suddenly a new and expensive former Olympian at the rink to bring up her scores and put her on the map. She’d only seen Titus a few times, but he was memorable in that he constantly looked like he wanted to murder every skater on the ice and then himself. Which was at least an honest take on the world of figure skating, even if she knew she would never want to deal with him every day.

“Mom got Nia to sign on with me this season since Rose decided to have a mental breakdown and quit,” Luna says indifferently. “Sure, she’ll be working with Clarke too, but we all know half of her ability is because she’s always had Nia. Now I’ll be able to even out the playing field.”

“Who even knows if Clarke will be back this season? Her foot is fucked up and every time someone does a jump I see her wincing. Fear is our friend right now. It’ll be so easy to psych her out before she even has the chance to get back in.”

“Plus, no offense but…” (Clarke knows very well that Luna intends full offense, though she lowers her voice as though it pains her to say the next words), “you’ve seen the weight she’s gained since the injury. She’ll never be able to rotate her jumps correctly now. This season is ours, and once we have the advantage we just won’t let it go.”

They laugh for a moment, though it quickly becomes strained, as though they’ve just realized that a Clarkeless season puts their own rivalry at the forefront.

Clarke tries not to think about their words — they’ve been saying hateful things behind her back and straight to her face for as long as she can remember. The neurotic side of her brain though, the side that wants to count every calorie and do 6 more hours in the gym and sounds suspiciously like Abby, tells her that maybe they’re right. She was back to her workouts as soon as the doctors cleared her, and it still takes up the majority of her day, but suddenly she isn’t sure it’s enough. Proper maintenance of her body is literally part of her job, and it’s hard not to be constantly aware of how wrong it all looks and operates when it’s the center of your life.

She drags her hand over her sweaty hair in frustration. They’re getting to her, getting in her head, without even trying. Her chest feels tight, and all she can think is _fuck them, fuck all of this, and fuck skating._ If she had just a little more bravado in this moment, she’d walk outside with her gear and set her skates on fire. God how that would piss Abby off. Simone would probably cry with joy.

She’s not even close to finished with her daily workout regiment, but she decides that today is over. Who cares anyway when her season is probably a wash?

She walks out of the gym, making sure to pass deliberately close to Gaia and Luna. Their conversation awkwardly peters off when she comes into view, though she doubts they’re actually sorry or even particularly embarrassed by what they’ve said. She passes by before stopping and turning back to them.

“Hey Gaia! I saw you on the ice during the first session. Your lutzes are looking so much better! You can hardly even tell that every third attempt or so is a flutz.” She smiles. “And Luna!” She pauses, smile morphing into something closer to a faux-grimace. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get there soon.”

They both smile in return, but she sees the naked anger in their eyes. Apparently they aren’t very good at being on this side of the passive aggressive attacks yet. Maybe a season on top would do them some good, if they can even manage it.

She turns back around to leave as she pulls out her hair tie. When she gets to the doors, she throws out an indifferent, “Bye, ladies!” without looking back.

She’s not proud of it, and she’s definitely not proud of how warm it makes her feel to know she’s probably ruined their days. Psychoanalyzing how fucked up they all are won’t help, so she just lets herself enjoy it.

* * *

Just before she’s meant to get the all clear on her injuries, she gets a text from an unknown number.

**From: 312-555-0102 —** **_Hi. Is this Clarke Griffin?_ **

And sure, it’s not like she’s actually famous by any means, but she’s technically a public figure in some capacity. She has a whole ass Wikipedia page that she keeps trying to update with correct information (because they somehow keep editing it to make it wrong again?). And she does interviews with various sports writers. All the Olympic hype prior to the injury had even led to some small sponsorship deals, so she’s not a complete unknown. And she knows Abby would tell her that she should ignore the message and block the number, only her phone buzzes again before she gets the chance.

**From: 312-555-0102 —** **_Sorry, that was probably creepy as fuck. I’m not a stalker. I need to talk to you about your partner Finn_ **

**From: 312-555-0102 —** **_Collins_ **

**From: 312-555-0102 —** **_I mean obviously you knew who I was talking about_ **

There’s a break in the messages coming in for a second, long enough that Clarke tries to figure out exactly how she’s supposed to be replying. Before she comes up with anything beyond _is this mafia shit_ the texts start coming in again.

**From: 312-555-0102 —** **_fuck, sorry I’m so awkward_ **

**From: 312-555-0102 —** **_anyways, my name’s Raven_ **

**From: 312-555-0102 —** **_i’m pretty sure you’ve been dating my boyfriend._ **

* * *

Clarke spends the next three hours untying the knot of Finn Collins with a Raven Reyes, Chicago native, car mechanic, and undeniable girlfriend of the guy she was fucking. The conversation is a disaster, though not because of Raven herself. Surprisingly she harbors no anger towards Clarke, but piecing together the lies he’s been telling Raven about his ‘work pal’ and their ‘completely platonic partnership’ is exhausting. When they get tired of texting an hour in, they switch to Skype, which just proves to Clarke that Finn is the biggest idiot of all time, because Raven is a fucking model who also knows how to fix any car problem ever (apparently).

Clarke tells her about their situation, which was a little more than friends with benefits but not quite a proper relationship. She tells her that she genuinely didn’t know about Raven since he never spoke much of home after moving to train with her.

They discuss the injury, and Raven, who is tactless in an irreverent, funny kind of way rather than a straight bitchy way, jokes about his complete and utter fuckup that ruined her Olympic chances. Clarke is surprised when she immediately and genuinely laughs about it all.

She learns about how Raven started out skating with Finn, though it was an untenable pairing from the start — Raven’s family didn’t have nearly the kind of money that Finn’s did, and while they loved skating together for fun as kids, the Collins family wasn’t willing to finance her for the next decade at least so they could continue. They stayed best friends, living right down the street from each other, but Finn’s competitions meant they inevitably spent time apart. They decided to go long distance after he moved to Michigan and had managed three years that way, though he was being unfaithful for much of that time with Clarke.

Clarke asks what Raven knows about Minnesota and the new pairing. Monroe is four years younger than Finn, and while that’s hardly an issue in skating, it’s a big problem if he has a penchant for trying to seduce his partners. Raven barely knows anything, saying Finn has been quiet lately in their conversations, always directing things back to her. 

Clarke still hasn’t heard from him since the accident.

It would almost be nice if she could bring herself to miss him — he was one of only two friends she had at their rink after all, and they’d spent three years together as a team. If she missed him at all, it would mean that there had been something there to pine after, something that made it all worth it.

She doesn’t miss him. She’s angry in a sort of detached way — angry on behalf of Raven and angry that she was lied to. But no part of her misses him or wishes that he would come back.

She knows Abby planned to ask him to return now that her injury is all but healed. His name could only remain a curse word in their house so long before Abby realized that he was still their best shot for a future Olympic gold in pairs. His partnership with Monroe was technically on a trial basis anyway, so it could be broken without major ramifications. 

Clarke doesn’t want that. Monroe can have him for her partner, though Raven has already said she plans to covertly reach out and let her know about some of his less than stellar past behaviors. Right after she formally dumps Finn anyway.

She knows Abby will be pissed that the one thing she always advised against — romantic partner entanglement — led to the destruction of a good team, but she’s not going to have him back. Even before the lies, she can’t fathom trusting him to throw her again, so the whole thing is a moot point.

At least all the bullshit accidentally gave her Raven. They promise to Skype again tomorrow. She knows without any doubt that it’ll be the highlight of her day.

(and Raven’s cool, so she knows it isn’t actually _pathetic_ to think that way)

(but it’s definitely a little bit pathetic)

* * *

Abby is _not_ happy when Clarke tells her that she won’t be working with Finn again. She doesn’t bother to mention Raven or their ill thought out trist, instead framing it entirely around the accident. The news is made all the worse when Clarke is given the all clear to return to normal rehearsal and she’s suddenly a pairless pairs skater. 

Nia, despite having very little compassion as a coach, is smart enough to not immediately reinjure her best skater, so they phase her back into full skating slowly. By the end of May, Nia finally feels like she should get back into practicing jumps, because at the very least they can have her competing in singles.

Clarke knows that Abby is still calling every unpaired skater she can think off, including a few who have retired. She’s fairly certain one or two of the names on the list are men who actually still have active partnerships that Abby thinks could be _broken up if the price is right… metaphorically, of course, dear._

Abby has her do a few sessions with Cillian, who seems nice and is definitely stronger than Finn, but she still feels vaguely sick about it all.

She smiles at him during their fourth session together, though it’s tight on her face. 

“Okay, okay,” Nia says, clapping her hands. “No more time to wait. You skate beautifully together already. Today, we will do lifts. You are warmed up?”

They nod, though it’s not really a question that requires answering. No one would dare to come on the ice before a proper warm up.

Cillian smiles before placing his hand in hers to start their skate. After a few laps, she knows that he is reaching out to instigate the beginning of a lasso lift, but all her muscles suddenly feel completely locked up. She skates to a halt instead.

“Clarke?” He asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I, uh…” She takes a deep breath so she won’t panic in the middle of the ice like there aren’t fucking 11 year olds out doing triple loop jumps. “I haven’t done a lift since the accident.”

He looks sympathetic, but chooses to take the logical approach rather than make her feel awkward by comforting her. “We did the lift yesterday in the gym. You know I’m strong enough to hold you.”

“I know. Of course I know. And I’ve never even been injured doing a regular lift — obviously it was the twist lift that fucked me over. I’m just out of practice I guess.”

She knows it’s more than that, knows she’s too deep in her own head. She just knows she doesn't want to be balanced eight feet off the ice being held up by one hand while Cillian spins around beneath her. Fuck that. Fuck whoever thought that ice skating had to be any crazier an activity than it already intrinsically is. 

She shakes out her tense muscles because she knows Nia isn’t going to be pleased if she wastes the whole session being an idiot. Cillian lets them move at her pace, and after a failure to launch on their second try that is once again her fault, she finally lets him lift her on the third. She’s certain she can hear Josie laughing somewhere in the corner, probably something about _how the mighty have fallen_ , but she’s just glad to have managed this once.

They work through the morning on lifts, and it starts to settle into her body again like a familiar ache after the first few tries. 

She doesn’t love it, but when has she ever loved anything about skating. Fear, competitive fervor, and Abby are the only three things that ever drive her to continue anyway.

They take a break to eat lunch — perfectly balanced for the correct amount of calories and protein — and then they return for the afternoon session.

Nia has always preferred the blunt approach, so Clarke shouldn’t feel as surprised as she does when she starts with: “Lifts are going well. Now, we do throw jump.”

And sure, a throw jump isn’t quite the same as a twist lift, but the motions are familiar. Partner X aids her in a jump, she rotates, and then has to stick the landing. In the case of a throw jump, the landing is all on her, coming down the way she would from doing a singles jump rather than relying on her partner to catch her. But still, the mechanics are similar enough that her brain starts lighting up with panic.

She tries to suppress it, knows that Abby is watching her rehearsal with eagle eyes, ready to correct her at the slightest infraction. She allows Cillian to pull her along as they start skating a few laps to gain momentum, but as soon as he reaches out for her waist, she knows she can’t do it. She skates directly into his chest, not even trying to stop herself or the momentum, allowing him to absorb all of it. Luckily he doesn’t fall over, though she’s not certain she would have noticed if he did.

She doesn’t even bother to look at him or wait for the inevitable “what’s wrong” question on his lips. Instead, she turns tail and flies off the ice as fast as she can. 

She runs to the locker room while haphazardly trying to put her skate guards on, only barely making it into a toilet stall before the vomit comes up.

By the time she finishes and washes up, she knows several minutes have passed. Everyone will have seen her flee the rink, and even mid-session, there will already be gossip spreading. The whole damn training center is a petri dish of barely concealed malevolence. The other pairs skaters must be bolstered in the knowledge that she’s such a fuck up at this point. 

There’s no surprise when the first person she sees upon exiting the locker room is Abby. Arms crossed over her chest and face tight in order to hold in her explosive disappointment, she says, “We need to talk.”

Clarke just nods and follows as they find a quiet place to fight without being under the microscope of all the other mothers.

Finally, she says: “Mom, I don’t think I can skate pairs this year. Or if I even want to.”

“Of course you can skate pairs, Clarke. Don’t be ridiculous. You just need to give Cillian something to work with. And don’t even get me started on _not wanting to_ when you know very well that you do.”

She scoffs. “Since when? When have I ever told you that I want to skate pairs?”

“Since you realized that you could medal in two Olympic disciplines! Why settle just for singles when you’re clearly lightyears better than everyone at this god forsaken rink? You got silver two years ago at Worlds — that’s no place to stop! You’re so close to everything, and you have four seasons to perfect it all! Don’t be stupid and throw it away because you’re a little afraid to start again.”

“You know that the pairs gold was never my goal until you put it in my head. And I was fine to go along with it even though it’s exhausted me to be trying to be the best at everything for the last three years! But now I’m tired, and I don’t want to be thrown across the fucking ice again. You realize I could’ve been injured far worse if things had been even slightly different?”

“You’re being dramatic. What’s the worst that would’ve happened if not that? No one dies in figure skating accidents, Clarke. I’m not happy about the accident either, but you get back up and move on!”

“You’re not happy because it messed with the Olympics, not because I was concussed and had to have surgery on my foot to fix all the bones that got fucked up when a blade went through it! Do you even hear yourself and how ridiculous you sound? I don’t want to do this.”

“After I went through all this trouble of finding Cillian?”

“Cillian lives nearby — he didn’t uproot his whole life for me. You can’t guilt me into this. If he wants a pretty young partner that bad, I’m sure he can find one easily. And I can put pairs behind me. I have a silver from Worlds and that’s enough for me. I’m satisfied.”

“You’re going to let _Josie_ keep dominating the American pairs competitions when she’s clearly incapable of beating the Europeans?” Abby spits Josie’s name like it’s a personal offense to her.

“Josie can do what she wants. Her successes and failures can’t be reliant on me anymore. If America wants better pairs teams, they need to train better teams.” She pauses, before tacking on another thought that she knows will only piss Abby off further. “Maybe Finn and Monroe will go all the way this year. I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Clarke, don’t throw away a huge lead in pairs just because you don’t want to try! This is irrational. You’ve been training years for this and you want to blow all that effort now?”

She sighs, knowing that nothing she can say will ever help Abby make sense of it all. Abby had been a competitive skater too before she met Jake and quit to have Clarke. She knows that Abby wanted to have the typical family life and left her career in singles with a few silvers and bronzes under her belt without many regrets, but it’s clear that the passage of time and the undeniable abilities of her daughter have rekindled the competitive fire. Abby might not have ever been on a path to Olympic gold, but it’s clear she wanted it. Instead she’s just shifted the goal onto her daughter, content in the knowledge that she could win by proxy.

Sometimes she wonders if her mother regrets having a child, regrets giving up skating before she had the chance to go further. It would be difficult, she thinks charitably, to have a child that both represents the end of your career in skating and who clearly surpasses your own abilities. She knows her mother is proud, in a twisted sort of way, of how talented Clarke has become over the years, but she wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was tinged with jealousy too. Abby was already 26 when she left skating and she’d never managed to achieve what Clarke had in a much shorter time. It must be a bitter pill to see her wanting to throw it all away.

“I’m sorry, mom, but I’m not going to change my mind. We can work something out with singles, and I’m sure that I’ll be able to take a program to the Olympics with that, but I can’t skate with Cillian or anyone else.”

Before her mother can try to rebuff her again, she walks off. She’s tempted to walk straight out of the winter sports center and get in her car but goes instead back towards the rink.

When she gets there, she doesn’t bother taking off her skate guards. Nia and Cillian are talking, but they quiet when she approaches. She nods at them in greeting.

“Cillian, Nia. I’m sorry for leaving. And I’m sorry for wasting both of your time. I won’t be skating pairs this season. Or at all, probably.”

She sees Abby out of the corner of her eye, standing by the door and looking angry. She probably thought that Clarke would stalk off in a huff as she’d been tempted to do, which would’ve given Abby time to spin the story to Nia and Cillian until she could bring Clarke around. Instead Clarke has taken an axe to it.

“Are you sure, Clarke? It’s okay to be a bit wary of lifts and throws after an injury. I’m not offended,” Cillian says.

She smiles politely. “Yes, I’m sure. You’re clearly a great skater, Cillian. I’m sure there will be girls lining up to be your partner. I just know that it can’t be me. I’m happy to leave pairs skating in the past.”

Nia just nods, being a no nonsense person herself. All she says is: “I’m still billing your mother for these sessions.”

“Of course,” Clarke smiles for real this time. “I would expect nothing else. You more than deserve it for dealing with my shit.”

She takes a second to look at the rink. Luna sat out this session, probably to come for the late rehearsal tonight, but Josie and Gabriel are out, clearly doing twist lifts just to rub it in Clarke’s face, as if she could even be bothered to care right now. Gaia speaks with Titus for another moment before skating off to do a double axel that she’s certain was meant to be a triple. So it goes.

A few younger kids are working as well, but she barely knows their names. She’s been so wrapped up in the drama that’s followed her for the last several years that she’s barely had the chance to get to know the people who weren’t actively considering her a threat yet. She smiles at a smaller girl who just landed a double salchow and is clearly proud of it. She almost forgets what it feels like to be proud of a new accomplishment. Every time she gets better, it only makes the hatred around her a bit more pronounced.

She swallows, looking back to Cillian and her coach. “I’m sorry to walk out in the middle of the session, but I think I’m going to go home and get my head together. I’m no use to anyone now. And,” she looks at Cillian, “sorry again. Really.”

She gives him a small wave as she walks out.

The mothers sitting around watching the session can’t help but stare as she leaves again. She tries very hard to hold her head high. They must be enjoying this moment. Finally, the haughty Clarke Griffin pulled off her high horse.

She lets them have it. The jealousy has long eroded away anything human in them anyway.

* * *

When she gets home, she gives her dad the short version of the story: she’s done with pairs skating, and she and Abby had the “it’s not my dream dad, it’s yours” fight. It’s almost embarrassing how much of a cliche her life is sometimes.

Her dad is, thankfully, in her corner on this (and in all things). He loved Abby’s passion when they met and he respects her passion now, but he’s levelheaded enough to know that it hurts Clarke in a lot of ways. She knows if she ever truly wanted out entirely, he would support her. It’s only her continued acceptance of it all that stops him from halting Abby’s fervor in its tracks. But of course he thinks stepping back from pairs is a good idea. Maybe they’ll actually see each other again now, instead of being little more than housemates. 

He kisses her forehead, tells her to take the night off and draw or watch TV. He almost sounds desperate for her to do anything that will make her feel like a normal 18 year old.

In fairness, a normal 18 year old would probably be partying on a night off. Either her life is so sad that he hasn’t even considered that it’s what she _should_ be doing, or (even worse) he knows she’s a loser who doesn’t have friends to go out with in the first place and is choosing not to draw her attention to it.

She sits on the couch and puts an episode of the Office on in the background while she draws — she’s not even sure if she really likes the Office, but sitcoms are the only shows she can watch since they are short and require almost no prior knowledge of the show to enjoy. She simply doesn’t have the time to keep up with serialized shows like _Vampire Diaries_ or _Glee_ or whichever others were meant to be popular with her demographic. So she’ll just have to suffer through Dwight (Dwain? No, definitely Dwight) being loud and annoying on screen while she tries to draw Raven from memory.

She wants to have it done in time for her call tonight with Raven, scheduled for after she’s finished with work. Raven is two years into studying something to do with computers at her college, but the term has already ended, so her part time job as a mechanic has gone full time for the summer.

Raven had been skeptical when she heard that Clarke could draw, stating that _it’s not fair that you’d get to be good at everything,_ which is patently ridiculous in Clarke’s eyes. Raven is going to make millions as a computer wiz and then supplement it by fixing famous people up with cool cars on the side. Plus she’s hot as fuck. So really it’s Raven who has too much talent to be real.

When she’d said all this to her, Raven just flicked her ponytail off her shoulder and replied: “You’re damn right.” At least she knew her worth.

Anyway, she still wants proof that Clarke isn’t lying about the art thing. And since Raven has quickly become her only real friend and a lifeline to the world outside of her skate club, she’s eager to show off something of herself that has nothing to do with medals or ice rinks. So she spends the next two hours perfecting the drawing, and it feels nice not to be rushed for once.

When Abby doesn’t come home for dinner, Clarke and her dad eat a nice meal on the couch together, her sock-covered feet resting in his lap as they balance plates of food against their chests. She smiles more genuinely in one evening with her dad than in the rest of the month combined as far as she can tell, excepting maybe her calls with Raven.

It’s hard to be hit so immediately in the face with how miserable she constantly is, but the evening makes it inescapably obvious. The smallest of joys threatens to overflow her heart. She doesn’t know where to put the feelings.

Clarke stands up, taking both of their empty plates to the kitchen to be loaded into the dishwasher. “Thanks for dinner, dad. I’m going to get ready for bed now and then call Raven. I’m sure mom still expects me at the rink by 5 tomorrow anyway so I shouldn’t make this a late night.”

“Of course. I love you, sweetheart,” he says, like it's the easiest thing. It’s always been so easy between them. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have that with another person — not really.

* * *

“Wow, so you actually can do art,” Raven says, clearly impressed but not willing to show it off too much.

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, I really _can_ do art. When I have time, at least. You know how it is,” she says, waving off the obvious understanding of how little time she usually has.

“Figure skating is art, though. Of a sort, I guess.”

She hums. “It’s not, uh, _not_ art. If you know what I mean. I’m sure loads of people who watch it think it’s this beautiful expression of artistic and athletic intent, but…” She trails off and then tries to cover a bitter scoff.

“I assume you don’t agree?” Raven smiles.

“Uh, I guess not. It’s beautiful to watch, but everything about it is so toxic. I guess anything at the professional level has the ability to be that way. I doubt ballerinas in world renowned companies find as much genuine joy in dancing as they did what it was a passion rather than an obligation. Same idea.” She shrugs.

“The vicious underbelly of the glittering world of skating is finally being revealed. Someone call NBC Sports!”

She laughs — “I’m sure NBC more than knows. It’s an open secret. Didn’t Finn bitch about this stuff to you, or am I the only person who is willing to admit how terrible it all is?”

“Finn was pretty happy I think. He switched between seeing the best in everything and being fueled by the hate of the others. Whatever cognitive dissonance he has is clearly working for him though. Meanwhile you’re here twisted up in knots like a fucking pretzel about something you’re meant to enjoy.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “When I start enjoying it again, you’ll be the first to know. But don’t start holding your breath or anything.”

Raven pauses, taking a second to scrutinize Clarke. It’s easy to joke about how messed up the rink and all its inhabitants are, but there’s a lot underneath that is being covered by a thin veneer of humor.

“Why don’t you? Try to enjoy it, I mean.”

“Now you sound like my mom.”

“No, not, like, force yourself to like it. But you must’ve liked it at some point, right? What would it take to make the competition fun instead of whatever layer of the inferno this is?”

Clarke thinks for a moment, really considering the question that she’s never permitted herself to ask before. “To start, I’d probably want to get away from this skate club.” It’s the easiest answer because it has nothing to do with her. The environment is a disaster, but knowing that hardly requires her to get introspective about her own desires.

Raven just laughs. “Okay, that’s stating the obvious. What else?”

“Uh, I’m not really sure. I just sort of slog through it all at this point. I’m good, but there’s no joy to it.”

“You like art though. I know, in the loosest sense of _knowing_ , that there are specific requirements in competition that you have to meet, but couldn’t you try to focus more on the expressiveness rather than.. I don’t know, a series of jumps connected together by pretty arm motions and some fancy skate moves?” She pauses. “Just my professional opinion.”

“Maybe? Nia and my choreographers do a lot of the work on that part. I mostly just do what they say. I guess I could try to take a more active stance there, but I’m not sure it’ll come to much.”

“Not to be a gross cliche — because trust me, I’m already regretting what I’m about to say — but you’re an artist and you have a whole fucking rink as your canvas. Do something interesting with it and maybe you’ll enjoy it for once.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything, but not because she disagrees with the sentiment. In fact, it’s lodging itself in her brain already, and she knows she wants that for herself. To enjoy the sport again. To feel fulfilled by something she performs.

Raven continues, “Anyway, my therapy isn’t free. Scan that sketch and send it to me so I can make it my facebook profile picture. And then make a fucking facebook so you can friend me. Myspace has been dead for at least two years now, Clarke. The days of Blingee are past.”

“Fuck off, Raven. You know I haven’t logged into that account since 2008 anyway. But the Top 8 situation was better for my current friend level than whatever bullshit facebook is pulling, so I think I’ll pass.” She smiles.

A few minutes later, Raven has a new charcoal profile picture and Clarke has the beginnings of hope fluttering around inside her.

* * *

She spends the next few days trying to explain what she wants to Nia without letting her mother know. It’s not that it needs to be a secret that she wants to be involved and have some ownership over her programs, but if Abby knows that they’re stepping over the choreographer’s head, she’ll just try to take over and write the routine herself. 

Clarke has known Nia almost her entire life, and while she wouldn’t go so far as to call her a friend, she’s at least an ally. Their goals are intertwined; if Clarke is passionate about her work, she’ll do better, meaning that Nia has the potential to coach another skater to Olympic gold. Plus she gets paid the big bucks to do it. So she is willing to hear Clarke out.

_Hearing Clarke out_ includes a surprising amount of _reigning Clarke in,_ to be fair. There is a lot that has to be left by the wayside, even in a sport with artistic scores as a major factor. Playing to what the judges want is ultimately a better move than creating the program entirely tailored towards her own desires, at least if the goal is still to win (and, to Nia, it undoubtedly is). 

They spend the next few weeks working through this, but it still doesn’t seem to make Clarke feel the same spark she felt during her conversation with Raven that night. Maybe the reality just can’t quite match the fantasy. Still, it’s better. Probably. 

In June, after she has officially finished all of her homeschooling and ‘graduated’, their rink does a small exhibition to raise money for general use equipment. They hold the event every year, and it’s not meant to be anything special — just a way to keep the skaters motivated when qualifying competitions are still a few months away. But even just performing for the family and friends of the skaters is an ordeal. Everyone has something to prove in the wake of their prior season’s successes and victories, so the event always feels more cutthroat than a friendly exhibition has a right to be.

Clarke, of course, skates singles, doing a revamped free skate program from a few seasons prior. She makes subtle changes to add more of her own flair and ups some of the jumps to increase their difficulty, but it’s still essentially the same routine. No use tipping anyone off to her new plans for choreography this far out from competitions. It’s not above anyone here to steal ideas.

And she skates well — of course she does. But when she leaves the ice to polite claps from the families of people who hate her, she knows in her heart that she didn’t enjoy it. And from the look on Nia’s face, she knows it too.

Nia corners her after she leaves the ice, trying to stay quiet in the mostly empty hall so that no one will overhear them.

“Please, with me, be honest. You do not like singles. You do not enjoy it. I’ve seen your face.”

Clarke doesn’t even bother to lie. “No. I really don’t.” Then she tries to justify it. “I used to. Really. But now it’s… It feels different.”

“And you’ve already given up on pairs.”

It’s not a question, but Clarke still feels that it requires answering. “Yes. And I don’t want to go back to that.”

“Did you like pairs? Not the required elements,” she adds when she sees Clarke’s face pull an immediate _no._ “No, I mean, did you like skating with someone? Having the performance be about the interplay between two people, instead of just you on the ice. Some people like the dynamic, even if they don’t like the lifts and jumps. I just wondered if you felt that way.”

She’s never considered it, always conflating _pairs skating_ with the necessity of its elements too much to wonder if she enjoys simply skating with someone. Still, she immediately knows the answer.

“Yes. Yeah, I did like being with someone else on the ice. It felt more like a dance, the push and pull of storytelling. It’s not the same in singles, at least not for me.”

Nia just puts her hands on both of Clarke’s cheeks like she’s an especially cute dog or infant. It’s almost loving, but just the right amount of patronizing to keep Clarke from feeling like it’s a weird new step in their not-friendship.

“I have an idea. And probably I am not going to like it very much if it works. But you are very talented, and you should be able to go to the Olympics if you can.” She pats Clarke’s cheek once. “I must make a phone call.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of the routines that I write about are 100% based on real life skates, but I have some examples to make it easier to see what I'm trying to describe if you're new to the ice dance world.
> 
> [Pairs Skating](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6bNOnXTe4Ok&t=16s) This isn't the skate I've described for Clarke and Finn last chapter AT ALL (they were skating to Rachmaninoff which is a completely different vibe), but this video is a great pairs skate from 2018 which gives you a good indication of the tosses and jumps they do. It's very different looking from ice dance imo.
> 
> Bellamy and Clarke's free dance isn't based on anything in particular, but if you're unfamiliar with ice dance, here is a good video to show you what it looks like generally done by the excellent [Virtue and Moir](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZG1cbrQtbQ)
> 
> Their golden waltz short dance was actually based on a real performance though! You can see [Davis and White](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uTmfZONRZ4) doing their 2011 SD.

After Nia makes her phone call, things happen surprisingly quickly. 

* * *

Nia refuses to mention exactly _whom_ she is calling, but she makes sure to walk out of the sports complex entirely so as not to be overheard. She’d given Clarke firm instructions to _wait here, girl — trust me_ so Clarke takes up temporary residence near the infrequently used vending machines.

Nia is gone for 15 minutes, and though it feels like a long time to wait, she knows that whatever is coming is probably going to be a big deal, so she’d assumed it would take longer than 15 minutes to iron out the details.

“Back already? What’s the plan?”

“Clarke, you want to dance — to perform and make art upon the ice, no?”

She wants a lot of nebulous things that she doesn’t yet understand, but yeah, that about sums it up. She nods, allowing Nia to continue.

“I will miss you, if you go. And your mom’s paychecks.” Clarke laughs good-humoredly. Nia’s unfailing honesty is always funny. It was presumably basic politeness that had her listing Clarke above the money in the first place. “But you do not belong in singles _or_ pairs. No, you are meant to ice dance.”

It’s ludicrous.

It’s so, so obvious.

She wants to dance, to make the programs a performance of beauty and passion. She longs for the interplay of having a partner on the ice without the danger of crazy throws. She’s never taken much interest in ice dance, never considered it as being as serious as the other disciplines, but even she’s smart enough to realize it’s exactly what she’s been wanting.

It’s everything she can’t have.

“Nia, you know my mother would never support me doing ice dance. She once called it ‘barely a sport’. She would kill me if I left singles for that.”

“If her options are between singles and ice dance, then she will fight. If her options are between ice dance and nothing, she will have no choice. Don’t ask her for permission. She wants a gold medal more than you do. Bargain.”

“She could stop financing me.”

“She would never. She knows it would only make you more determined to succeed without her. It is easier for her to pay money for an Olympic medal than to get one herself.”

“Okay, but… I don’t have a partner. And I don’t know how to ice dance. I’d be switching disciplines again.”

“The pairs training will help. You know how to track a partner, to feel his movements in line with yours. Ice dance lifts are lower, and there are no jumps or tosses. It will be easy to adapt. The biggest hurdle is learning to be more emotive in the performance. You will learn.”

“And the partner? I don’t even know any ice dancers.”

Nia just waves her cellphone in her hand. “That is what my call is for. I have found you a partner.”

“Who? How? Is he any good?”

Nia tsks. “Any good? I would not pair Clarke Griffin with an amateur. He is very good. His partner was injured last month and has decided to retire. You might know her — Gina Martin.”

“Gina? She’s retired?” And then it hits her — “Wait…!”

“I have called my friend Anya. She says that Bellamy Blake is still looking for a replacement. It took a few minutes for her to call and ask his opinion, but he said he will be happy to work with you. You know of Bellamy?”

“Yeah. We were partnered together as kids for a few years, long before I met you. And he was at the Olympics.”

“Yes. He and Gina won bronze. At Sochi, you and Bellamy will win gold.”

“No pressure then?” Clarke asks, but she laughs. It won’t be easy, but she’s not being big-headed when she says that she’s undeniably one of the best skaters in the world at this point. Making up for lost time will be difficult, especially since the Canadians have been skating together for so many years, but there’s no challenge that Clarke hasn’t been able to succeed at yet. Canada will just have to rest on their hometown victory laurels from Vancouver.

Her stomach flutters, and the feeling of desire to win, a genuinely joyful competitiveness and drive to flourish, is so unexpected she almost doesn’t know what to do with it. She just knows that, against all logic, she wants this. She wants to leave everything in her singles life behind and try ice dancing with Bellamy _just because she can._ Because the thought of it makes her feel alive for longer than a few seconds. Because she would be making art again, and it would feel meaningful.

“Would I have to move to his circuit to train with him?”

“That is his one demand. He has a younger sister and he does not wish to leave her. I assume you would not mind leaving this rink, but maybe you will miss your family too much?”

“I’m sure I can work something out with them, assuming that my mother doesn’t kill me as soon as I mention moving to ice dance. Once I manage that, the rest should be easy. Where does he train?”

Nia gives her the name of a training facility outside of Portland, Oregon. She didn’t even know Portland was a major hub for skaters to flock to (and Nia confirms that it isn’t, at least relative to some other areas). But Anya had gone there for Bellamy, Gina, and presumably the money, so they were more than set for their training.

She tries not to feel too hopeful, but when Nia gives her Bellamy’s number at his request so she can discuss things with him, she smiles. Something new — a fresh start. If it doesn’t all go wrong before it can even begin.

* * *

She doesn’t say anything to her parents that night about what had happened after the skate exhibition, not wanting to ruin things prematurely. She’ll confirm things with Bellamy first before telling them anything. No use starting a fight if it turns out that Bellamy had been pranking her all along.

A cursory google search shows that he’s four hours behind her, so she doesn’t feel bad texting him when she’s freshly showered and midnight has already passed in Michigan.

**From: Clarke — Hey Bellamy. Long time no see.**

**From: Clarke — Thanks for the flowers by the way. Also the reminder that my google image results are *chef’s kiss***

And despite feeling like an idiot _immediately_ , she convinces herself that triple texting to try to make herself sound less weird isn’t the right move. So she waits.

And waits.

And sure, it’s only past eight pm there so maybe he’s actually doing something, but she knows his coach had spoken to him about this earlier, so he should’ve been anticipating her getting in contact.

Maybe this is some kind of new-partner test she has to pass.

She decides to draw a picture of Nia’s face in the meantime. She’s going to owe her immensely if this all somehow pans out.

A solid thirty-three minutes pass before her phone buzzes, though Clarke immediately notes that it’s too sustained to be texts unless Bellamy _really_ likes bombing someone’s inbox.

“Hey, Bellamy,” she says, answering the phone.

A rough voice, tinged slightly by surprise, responds. “Clarke?”

“Uh, yeah. I hope that’s who you were trying to reach? Unless Nia really miscommunicated who your potential new partner was to Anya.”

“No, no. Anya explained everything to me in a rush. There wasn’t a lot of time to process any of it. I sort of assumed that this was all a weird joke or misunderstanding.”

“Well I’m completely serious, so if you’re still looking for a partner, I would like for it to be me.”

“Hold on there,” he says, huffing a laugh. “I need to get some interview questions or something. I probably shouldn’t just say yes at the drop of a hat.”

“Why? I’m an internationally ranked skater. I’ve got experience in pairs already which is comparable, and I went from a complete novice in that discipline to having a silver from Worlds in 2 seasons. Do I need to fax you my resume? I’m sure you could just google me; I’m told you’re well-versed in searching my name already.”

“I don’t doubt your ability, even if I probably should since you’ve never seemed interested in ice dance. But solid partnerships are hard to maintain. You can be the best skater in the world, but if I want to murder you all the time, we’ll never get anything accomplished.”

She laughs. She never wanted to murder Finn during their years together, but that’s because he was generally amenable in most situations. He listened to Nia and their coaching team, he was always on time for rehearsal, and he didn’t often complain. She should probably count herself lucky, all things considered, that he wasn’t an egotistical monster.

“Are you an egotistical monster?” She asks.

He splutters. “What? No, I… What?”

“Good; me neither. I have no social life so I’m always on time for sessions. I respect the coaches’ opinions and only argue if there’s really good reasoning to do so. I listen to the dietitians and doctors to keep myself healthy. I’d give you letters of recommendation but basically everyone I know hates me, so you’ll just have to take Nia’s word for it.”

“And why exactly are you planning to uproot your life to come to Portland and do ice dance?”

“Because I want to enjoy skating again. And that’s how I think I can make that happen.”

He hums, thinking it all over for a moment. “How soon can you be here?”

She takes a second, blinking in surprise. “I haven’t mentioned this to my mother yet, but once I set the ultimatum in place that it’s this plan or nothing, I could probably be there by next week. Why? I thought you needed time to think this over?”

“I’m sure at some future point I’ll come to regret this, but I’m not an idiot, Clarke. I’ve seen you skate enough to know that this is a good move if we’re going to ever win gold for America. And we’ve lost half the year already. We might need to sit this season out completely unless you’re an even quicker learner than I expect you to be.”

She grins. “I’m a _very_ fast learner, Bellamy. If you and Anya don't have ideas for the programs already, start thinking about it. I don’t think the duckling costumes will get us very far anymore.”

“This was… deceptively easy. You’re actually coming to Portland? Permanently?”

“I’ll text you flight details when I’ve broken the news to my mom. Once she realizes this is the only choice, she’ll throw money at the problem to solve it. I’ll get the earliest flight I can manage in the next few days.”

"Only choice..." he laughs lightly. "That's an oxymoron."

They say goodbye a few minutes later, and she admits to herself that it _does_ all feel a bit too easy. The match with Finn had been easy too, but that’s because it was already cemented by the time she was involved. Whatever Abby had done in the background to make it happen could’ve taken ages for all she knows. 

This probably should’ve been more difficult, but she’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The best ice dancer in the country is suddenly partnerless and willing to take her on with no experience — now isn’t the time to be finding flaws in the plan. Things need to stay simple until the contract is signed and he’s stuck with her.

* * *

She wakes up the next morning at four thirty and finds Abby in the kitchen already drinking her coffee.

“Mom? Can we talk?” She asks, taking a seat at the island.

“Did you sleep last night, Clarke? You look awful. You have a full day of training; you can’t be up all night like some rowdy college girl.”

“It’s fine, mom. I’m not going to the rink today anyway.”

Abby lowers her mug to the countertop with deliberately slow motions. “Excuse me? And why not? Are you sick, because there is no excuse otherwise.”

Abby’s voice is grating and pointed despite the early-morning faux-whispering, but clearly she’s been loud enough to summon Jake from bed. He plods out of their bedroom, groaning and rubbing at his eyes. Her dad works normal human hours at his engineering job so he doesn’t normally see them at breakfast, but Clarke is unreasonably glad to have him here for this conversation. He needs to know she’ll be leaving anyway, but she also knows she’ll have his support.

“Dad! I’m glad you’re awake,” she says, pouring him a mug of coffee. “I need to talk to you both.”

“About what exactly?” Abby asks, lips pursed.

“I’ve been speaking to Nia — about my skating, and… and about how unhappy I’ve been with it all. And she’s come up with a solution.”

Her dad smiles encouragingly. Abby just asks, “And?”

“I want to start by saying that this plan isn’t up for debate. I’ve decided it’s definitely what I want to do, and it’ll be a good balance between continuing to skate and actually feeling happy with what I’m doing.”

“Not up for debate? Clarke—”

Her dad cuts in. “What’s your idea, sweetheart?”

“I want to leave singles.” She holds up a hand to stop her mother from interjecting. “And I’m not returning to pairs. I want to ice dance.”

“ _Ice dance?_ Are you crazy, Clarke? Do you hear yourself? Why would you throw away all your talent to ice dance? You might as well just join an amateur ballroom dancing club and call it a day!”

“ _Mom!_ Stop. I want to do ice dancing. I miss having a partner, but I don’t like pairs. I like the storytelling aspect. And I wouldn’t be throwing away my talents; I’ll just be using them in different ways.”

“Ice dancers don’t even do jumps! How are you going to impress anyone with that?”

“You and I both know that the _only_ names most of the average Olympics watchers remember are those of the Canadian ice dance team. It connects with people! And that’s not to say that singles and pairs don’t connect, but it’s different. It’s expressive and passionate. It’s exciting to watch, and I’m excited to do it. Really.”

Her dad tries to take control of the conversation again before it can devolve further. “And as your parents, of course we’re glad to hear that you’re excited to pursue this. Do you have any leads on how to start?”

“Yeah. Nia talked to her connections and I’m going to pair with Bellamy since Gina Martin retired recently. We worked out the big picture details yesterday.”

“Bellamy?” Her dad asks, surprised. “Oh, that’ll be nice. We haven’t seen him in a while.”

Abby looks like she’s trying to hold in a scream, if only to appear to be the more rational person since she so clearly thinks that Clarke has lost her mind.

“When is Bellamy planning to come here then?” She asks, diplomatically. Probably already planning how to stop it or crash his plane or something.

She bursts that bubble immediately. “He’s not. He doesn’t want to be too far from his sister. I’m going to Portland. As soon as possible.”

Abby looks enraged. Her dad looks sad at the news.

Clarke continues. “I’m almost 19 anyhow. If I was a normal kid, I’d be in college right now, so moving away isn’t that strange. And we’ll be able to Skype and everything. But he’s America’s leading male ice dancer. He may never be without a partner again, and if I don’t jump at the chance now, I’ll regret it.”

“Clarke,” Abby begs. “Please, think this through. You can be an Olympian as a singles skater. We have no idea how you’ll do in ice dance. Martin / Blake only managed bronze in Vancouver, and they’d been partners for years.”

“Not to brag, mom, but I’m a better technical skater than Gina. I just need time to learn the expectations of the discipline, but I’m sure with three and half years until the Olympics, we’ll have time to figure it out.” She pauses, wanting to make her next point very clear. “Ice dance is my _only_ chance to be an Olympic gold medalist, even if it takes a lot of work. Even if it takes 8 years… or 12. I’m not going to be an Olympian for singles because I’m done with singles. That’s the reality of where I’m at, mom. It’s this plan or I leave skating, because I don’t want to feel miserable anymore.”

Her mom looks like she might cry. She hates the rink and everyone there, but she also thrives on the petty energy that radiates from the space. Without Clarke as a reason to go there every day, what will she do?

“What about everyone at the rink? I know you aren’t competing against Josie anymore, but how will you rub your success in her face if you don’t see each other every day? And if you stop skating singles, you’ll be giving the Nationals title to either Luna or Gaia or some other barely competent skater from a different club. Is that what you want? They don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t care what they deserve. If they win, so be it. I’ll be too concerned about my own scores in a completely different discipline to worry about them. And world records exist for a reason — I hold the record for highest score in the free skate _and_ short program. They might win, but they’d have to get very good very quickly to take those away from me.” She shrugs. “But I mean it — it’s this plan or I’m done. I’ll go to college, or find a job near Raven. Or I can be an Olympic hopeful. As an ice dancer.”

Abby swallows painfully. “I need to think.”

“Okay. Nia already knows I’m not coming in today. I’m going to go back to bed for an hour or two before I start looking at flights to Portland. I don’t want to waste too much time. We’re hoping to compete this season if it’s possible. We’ll probably suck though. Or I will, anyway,” she laughs.

Her dad smiles and rubs his weathered hand along her shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Clarke. And I’m glad you’ve found something to be passionate about. I’m sure you and Bellamy will be great.”

“Thanks, dad. You’ll come visit me sometimes, right? Both of you?”

“Of course, kiddo. Whenever you need us. And all major holidays. And maybe just because.”

She takes her dad’s mug and sets both his and hers in the sink. Then she kisses his cheek lightly. “I’m going back to bed. You both might want to as well. Four thirty is an ungodly hour and none of us are rushing out the door anymore.”

Abby doesn’t say anything as Clarke leaves the kitchen, but she knows there are four stages of grief to go through before they hit acceptance. She doesn’t mind waiting.

* * *

She spends the morning watching as many ice dance videos as possible on youtube. She doesn’t usually catch them live at competitions, being too busy with her own performances to see anything she doesn’t need to be present for. She starts with the classics like Torvill and Dean from the 84 Olympics, but quickly finds herself drawn to more recent performances. It’s clear the sport has changed immensely in the last few decades with new rules and expectations, but it seems to only make watching them more special. 

She watches clips from the last few years, seeing Gina and Bellamy performing at various competitions. There are a few other decent American teams, but they don’t hold a candle to Bellamy. It’s Lexa and Tristan, the feared Canadian team, that set the standard though. In the last few years, they have dominated the playing field, taking over completely from the European teams.

Lexa, svelte and nymphlike in Tristan’s hold, captures attention immediately. She is practically perfect in her technique, and it is clear from their interactions that the two have skated together since childhood. It will be nearly impossible to beat them, even with years of time to train. But Clarke hasn’t had a challenge she’s looked forward to in ages, so she’ll thrive in the attempt.

Absently throughout the afternoon she texts Bellamy, telling him of her deep-dive into his corner of the internet.

**From: Clarke — How often do you want to lowkey murder the Canadians?**

**From: Bellamy — Only when their scores come out higher than can be expected. Tristan’s footwork isn’t good enough for the technicals they’re getting.**

**From: Clarke — Sounds like jealousy :P**

**From: Bellamy — Jealous? I’m sure you’ve watched my 09 Worlds performance. You know my footwork is impeccable.**

**From: Clarke — You’re right, that step sequence was [fire emoji]. No reason to be jealous of Tristan. He’s fine, but he’s winning because of her. She’s the one we need to worry about.**

**From: Bellamy — That’s why I’ve got you now, right? Gina and I couldn’t quite surpass Lexa, but she’s definitely the stronger competitor on their team. Your technical skills are perfect, at least so says the ISU.**

**From: Clarke — Bringing my perfect lutzes to a sport with no jumps. There’s noooooo chance you’ll live to regret this, champ.**

**From: Bellamy — Don’t make me change my mind.**

**From: Clarke — Wouldn’t dream of it. Your my only hope, Obi Wan.**

**From: Clarke — Or something like that. I haven’t even seen those movies, just tumblr gifsets. LMAO.**

**From: Bellamy — That’s a fucking travesty, Griffin.**

**From: Bellamy — Also you meant **you’re.**

**From: Clarke — Shut the fuck up.**

* * *

It takes two days before Abby calls another family meeting. Clarke is actually fairly impressed by this speed — she’d bet her dad that it would take her at least four days.

But it starts in a manner so predictable that Clarke should've seen it coming.

“Everyone at the rink is talking about your sudden disappearance.”

Clarke is taken aback for a second, having assumed this would start with either bargaining for Clarke to change her mind or resigned acceptance of their new reality. But the most obvious answer is that the only thing that truly matters is the terrible society of figure skaters.

“And? It’s not going to matter much when I’m half a country away and you have no reason to go back there.”

“Clarke—”

“If you’ve come with the intention of changing my mind, you shouldn’t try. I don’t care what they think; I don’t care that they’ll think I’m running away or that they might actually do well in the vacuum that I leave behind. It doesn’t matter.”

Abby just sighs. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She’d expected this to be a fight.

“Okay. Okay.” Like she’s trying to convince herself. “Okay. You’ll go to Portland. You’ll skate with Bellamy as,” she grimaces, “an ice dancer. You’ll go to the Olympics. It’s fine. This is fine. It’s totally fine.”

Clarke glances at her dad, wondering if he’s as confused as she is watching Abby’s brain slowly melt out of her ears while trying to come to terms with this.

Jake jumps in. “I’ve been looking into flights, Clarke. And places for you to live. We’ll have to get your car sent over there too, but I think we can get everything done pretty quickly.”

Abby jumps in. “We should all go. Move to Portland. Then I can be there for your training and we can stay together.”

“Uh.” Clarke has whiplash. “It’s not that I don’t want you there,” (she doesn’t), “but dad can’t just leave his job. And what about the house? It’s not like we’ll never see each other, but I’m okay to live on my own for a while. It might be nice, like I’m actually growing up.”

“I’m sure Clarke will be okay, Abby. You know she’s responsible. But maybe we can stay out there for a little while while you settle in, sweetie. Just until we know everything’s sorted.”

The compromise. She’ll take it. “Sure. A few days, maybe a week or two. I’m sure Bellamy won’t mind helping me after that if anything comes up. And Nia said that Anya can help in a pinch.”

After committing, however unenthusiastically, to the plan, Abby takes over the logistics of the move. The laptop comes out for flights and she’s already calling a friend to get her in contact with a good Portland realtor for help with a rental. Clarke would’ve accepted a Zillow search, but her mom loves to do The Most when she’s stressed.

**From: Clarke — The good news is, flights are being booked.**

**From: Bellamy — And the bad news?**

**From: Clarke — Once I’m there, you’re stuck with me. There’s no chance I’m moving back to Michigan once I’ve tasted freedom.**

**From: Bellamy — I’m putting pest management on my speed dial.**

**From: Clarke — ***You’re*** soooooo funny, Bellamy. Now I’ll never leave just out of spite.**

**From: Bellamy — I’ve made a terrible mistake.**

**From: Clarke — Too bad.**

**From: Bellamy — They need to make a middle finger emoji.**

She smirks. She’s very sure that whatever comes of this won’t be _boring_.

* * *

Another four days of hasty packing and she’s ready to go, more or less. Her car and most of her important items have been sent ahead to make the drive, and it’s only the belongings she doesn’t trust to be away from her like her skates that go in her carry on.

She hadn’t bothered going back to the rink to say goodbye to anyone. If she’s lucky and makes it even close to Nationals this year, she’ll see them there, at least in passing. Then they’ll all be able to tell her _how nice it is that you moved to ice dance, Clarke. It’s such an … interesting discipline to end up in. No jumps to worry about now, huh?_ She can already taste the bitterness of their fake smiles and condescension. 

She does say goodbye to Nia, though they choose to meet on neutral ground at a vegan restaurant not far away. They’ve never been especially close, but Nia has been there in the literal sense through every high and low moment in her career. Plus she’s the only reason that Clarke is moving on to something new, so she definitely owes her.

They don’t stay long, and it’s spent mostly in a comfortable silence. At the end of the meal, Nia looks her in the eye and says, “It will be hard. But I know you. Prove them wrong.”

Clarke smiles, promises she will, and then half hugs her former coach before heading to her mom's car that she's borrowing. She knows Nia will be successful with whoever she takes on next. Maybe not Luna though.

The next day, she and her parents are on a plane to Oregon. Abby hadn’t managed to get first class on such short notice, but business class was the compromise. Clarke doesn’t loathe flying coach the way her mother does, has done it enough for competitions, even on long international flights, but she’s not going to complain if her mom wants to burn money. At least she won’t turn up to her first practice still feeling the cramped achiness of a post-flying day.

When they get to the suburbs of Portland and the taxi drops them off at her new apartment building, she smiles. They are in spitting distance of the new rink, nestled into a full winter sports complex. It’s a bit smaller than the one at home, but Michigan is a more popular place for skaters to train. They’ll have fewer skaters to compete for space with at this site.

She’s eager to get on the ice, and it’s a strange feeling. There’s no telling when the last time she _wanted_ , truly wanted, to skate was. It’s been a long time.

She knows there won’t be time to skate today though; even with the time difference giving them a few extra hours in the day, it’s still mid-afternoon and they need to move her things in. But she takes a picture of the rink and sends it to Bellamy with the words “Invasion force has landed.” He texts back “Nothing is sacrosanct” but the next message comes through with a smiley emoji, so she knows he’s just fucking with her.

They unpack into the evening, but it doesn’t take as long as she’d expected. The apartment had come pre-furnished, so it’s mostly just slotting things into places with no firm rhyme or reason until she decides where she actually wants everything. The kitchen is empty, but various cooking implements are meant to arrive in the mail in the next few days thanks to a thorough night of online shopping. Nothing she eats is particularly complicated anyway; it’s all meant to be the perfect amount of fuel for her body, so there’s no joy put into the meals. That’s okay — it means she doesn’t have to learn to cook anything with actual difficulty. 

By the end of the night, her parents dip out to a hotel nearby since the apartment is a one bedroom and her mother isn’t the type to sleep on a pull-out. She calls Bellamy while checking the empty cabinets, seeing if anything needs dusting.

“Hello? Miss Michigan 2010, is that you?”

“It’s Miss Oregon now, I’m adapting. Like a particularly persistent weed.”

“What do you want, you fucking nuisance?” He’s laughing though. It’s weird — she hasn’t really _seen_ Bellamy in years, hardly remembers when she was young enough to have seen him regularly, but they have an instantly comfortable manner. He dunks on her, she dunks back. A beautiful understanding of mutual destruction.

“Are you going to the rink tomorrow?”

“I was planning to. Why, are you? Didn’t you only get in a few hours ago?”

“Yeah, but I want to start. I’m tired of waiting. Plus I can see the rink from my window and it’ll taunt me all day if I don’t go. Might as well get started.”

“You can _see_ the rink from your place? Good fucking luck; you’ll never get far enough away to decompress now.”

“Just assume that I’ve never decompressed a day in my life.”

“That checks.” She can hear his eyeroll. “Okay. Meet you there for the first session? Or is 5 am too early for you, Nuisance?”

“First session is fine. Short commute and all.”

“Alright, I’m texting Anya now.”

They end the call, and she climbs into her new bed. It’s nicer than her old bed, but that’s only because Abby had insisted on getting rid of the one that came with the apartment so that she could purchase a new one with _just the right level of firmness for an athlete of her caliber._ Whatever that translated to in mattresses. But she’ll admit it’s nice.

Falling asleep is surprisingly easy despite being alone in a new place. She almost feels rested when her alarm goes off at 4:30.

She rushes through a quick breakfast even though she never likes the feeling of eating so early in the morning. Whatever happens today, it’s sure to be draining. 

She rushes off to the rink once she’s dressed and brushed her teeth. She’d already sent her parents a text saying she’d decided to meet Bellamy but that they were welcome to come to the rink if they want when they wake up.

She arrives a few minutes early, but there are already a few skaters warming up in the common area outside the rink. A couple of mothers and skaters turn to look at her, and she can tell they’re surprised to see _Clarke Griffin_ at their rink. Maybe Bellamy hadn’t mentioned who his new partner was. If there are other ice dance pairs here, they’re probably wondering how this will play out for them.

A tall, slender, and intimidating looking woman approaches. “Clarke? I’m Anya.”

“Nice to meet you, Anya. I’m glad to be working with you — Nia has nothing but good things to say about your coaching.” Anya doesn’t look particularly impressed, but that’s nothing new. No-nonsense coaches are basically all Clarke knows. She switches topics. “Is Bellamy here already?”

Anya nods, gesturing to the windows that look into the rink. Mothers always sit by the windows, watching the sessions and gossiping amongst themselves. Since the session hasn’t started yet though, she doesn’t have to look over any heads to see Bellamy out skating laps at a comfortable speed.

“Great. I’ll warm up and then get out there.” She smiles.

A few minutes later, she skates out to meet Bellamy. He’s a lot taller than she remembered. He’s only maybe an inch taller than Finn, but he still has probably half a foot on her. 

“Ah, Nuisance, you’re finally here,” he says with a grin, coming to a short stop next to her. The motion sends up a spray of ice that gets all over her ankles, though she knows he’s done it on purpose since it’s beaten out of skaters early to keep them from doing it accidentally in competition.

“I’m not late, asshole. The session doesn’t start for another 3 minutes.”

“Guess I’m just dedicated.” He shrugs.

“Does Anya have a policy on murdering your partner? Like, scale of 1 to 10, how much trouble will I get in?”

“Anya likes me way more than she likes you.”

“Yeah, but how much is that?”

He frowns. “Probably not much. Fuck. Don’t murder me or you won’t have a partner?”

She mulls it over for a second. “Okay, that’s fair. For now.”

Anya walks up to the barrier around the rink, motioning them over. Smartly, they both decide to _shut the fuck up_ and not piss her off at 5 am.

Anya narrows her eyes at the pair like they are a particularly complicated math problem. “You look good together. Definitely an attractive pair. There’s an easy chemistry too, which is good. I want to see you skate together. Nothing difficult, just track each other.”

Clarke would probably feel weird about being talked about like that, but it’s more or less the uncomfortable standard in skating. And she knows, from _diligent research_ , that chemistry is a big factor in ice dance. It’s important in pairs too, but not quite to the same level. Part of being in a more emotive discipline is that they have to, well, _emote_. So, chemistry.

Bellamy offers his hand which she takes. It makes her feel like she’s five years old again, too young to understand that holding a boy’s hand won’t feel gross forever. They do a few laps, throwing in a few changes every now and then to keep the other on their toes. She’s not an amateur though — she’s been tracking Finn for years now. It’s a little different with Bellamy; she’ll have to learn a new set of indicators in the movements of his body to tell her what she needs to know, but he has to get used to her too. If nothing else, she’s definitely _not_ Gina.

Anya stops them after some time, seeing that they are already decently in tune. The rest will come with time, but tracking isn’t an issue they’ll have to worry about.

They spend the rest of the morning working through a few lifts from Bellamy’s old routines, first off the ice and then on. More than likely, they won’t reuse the exact same lifts in their programs this season since choreographers are always trying to one-up themselves, but it gets her into the flow of ice dance and helps her adjust away from what she’s used to in pairs.

It’s not a bad experience, all things considered. She’d been terrified to let Cillian lift her even though she knew he was strong and capable. But that’s the beauty of ice dance — the lifts never go higher than the man’s head, so there’s not as far to fall. That’s not to say they’re any _easier_. Anya has her wrapping herself around Bellamy’s body in increasingly quick moves as he spins on the ice beneath her. 

He’d been visibly afraid the first few attempts, which probably should’ve sent her running, but it was clear that he wasn’t worried about _himself._ He knew these moves better than just about anyone. He was worried for her, worried that they were going too fast. It was her first day and they already had her doing moderately difficult lifts — not at full speed, but not slowly either. If she was any other skater, this probably wouldn’t have been possible on day 1, but she’s _Clarke_ . She’s been training every day of her life in two figure skating sports. She is one of the youngest skaters to have a gold at Worlds. She managed a gold _and_ a silver in 2009 at the highest level of competition. She may hate a lot of what her mother has put her through, but the skills she has don’t fail her now. They’re fine tuned in her body, even if she is learning to use them in new ways.

By their fifth time running the lift on the ice, she smirks at him. “You can take it a little faster, Bellamy. I’ve got the motions down.”

“Jesus, Clarke. There’s no rush.”

“This isn’t exactly my first rodeo. Lifts aren’t new to me, even if this one is.”

“Okay, suit yourself.”

He takes the next attempt at full speed. She thinks he’s trying to scare her a little, not enough to actually trigger any lingering PTSD in her (she knows someone must’ve told him about the Cillian incident, even though she never mentioned it) but enough to make her rethink rushing things.

Instead she moves through the lift fluidly until he’s placing her back on the ice comfortably. She smiles at him. “Pretty good.”

“Sloppy feet!” Anya calls from the side.

He smirks. “Can’t win ‘em all I guess.”

She hits his shoulder. “Shut up. Having the lift down well enough to worry about having perfectly positioned feet means all the necessary parts are already there.”

“I’m not here to stroke your ego, Nuisance. You already know you can skate.”

She looks over at another pair of skaters. She doesn’t recognize them, but they’re clearly looking at her with some degree of displeasure.

“I know I can. They know it too.” She tips her head in their direction. “Competition? Or pairs skaters that I’ve never seen before?”

“Yeah, they’re ice dancers. Maya and Jasper. They’re fine but they don’t tend to be a huge threat. She’s pretty nice about it all, even if she’s clearly been putting in a lot of work to try to beat me. He used to be friendly too, but the last few years have been harder. I think consistently getting poor results at Four Continents has been demoralizing. He’s meaner now. To me and Gina in particular, but also just generally. And to you now, I suppose.”

Clarke can see he’s glaring at her while they chat with their coaching team, an older man she’s never seen and a younger guy with a slimy looking face. 

“I’m glad I’m already making friends,” she says, huffing a laugh.

“Ah, yeah. More names to write you letters of recommendation I guess. I’m sure Jasper and Josie could team up to form the I Hate Clarke Club.”

“You remember Josie?”

“I don’t need to remember her. She makes herself very, uh… _present_ whenever she sees me at competitions. Plus she friended me on facebook.”

“Oh boy, Gabe is _not_ going to like that. Either they’re sleeping together or he really wants to be.”

“I can confirm from the few times I’ve met him that he does not in fact like it. She’s an insistent person.”

She laughs. “Yeah, fuck her.” Then, “Not literally. Please. Just, like, for my own sanity. She’s the worst.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning to proposition her on her facebook wall.” He laughs.

“Good. You’d have to do an exorcism afterwards if you did. Get the demon out.”

He lightly smacks the back of her head. They run the lift a few more times. She focuses on her feet.

* * *

  
  
Anya and her parents are all pleased when they call it quits for the afternoon. Varying levels of pleased, but at least no one is disappointed.

Her mother chats with Anya about Clarke’s regular training schedule and how that might fit in with this new routine. Abby is a steamroller of a person, but Anya holds her ground fine, insisting that she will work out a schedule that works best for both Bellamy and Clarke’s development. They walk and talk, and just before they’re completely out of earshot she can hear her mother talking about Clarke’s diet. Typical.

She turns to her dad and Bellamy who are smiling and politely chatting. Her dad had always liked Bellamy and his mother Aurora. She’s pretty sure that he’d secretly hoped that Bellamy would stay so they could keep skating together as a pair. Bellamy had been an annoying kid back then, but he’d also been unfailingly polite to adults. He was smart too, she can remember that much. Always had a book in his training bag. Maybe her dad had seen him as a good influence on her.

“Hey, dad. Sorry to totally ditch you today.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart. It was nice to catch a practice. I usually only see competitions so it’s nice to see how the sausage is made.”

“It’s mostly bloody feet,” Bellamy kicks in.

Clarke laughs lightly. “I’m glad you don’t mind. I’ll be here for basically the rest of your trip. You and mom can still head back early if you like. It’ll be pretty boring when I’m busy all day.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can do a little remote work from here in the daytime, and at least this way we can still grab dinners together. Speaking of, you should join us, Bellamy. Clarke has an empty kitchen so we’re going out — our treat.”

“Oh, thanks Mr. Griffin, but I should probably get home to Octavia.”

“Your sister? You can bring her too, if you like. She was only a toddler when you moved away. It would be nice to see her all grown up. Aurora too, if she’s available.”

“I think my mom is working this evening. But I can bring Octavia, if… uh, if you’re serious.” He scratches at the back of his head.

“Of course, we’d love to have you both.”

Her father has always been a welcoming, friendly person. Abby is quiet for most of the dinner, making notes in a journal of things she needs to tell Anya about her expectations for Clarke before they leave.

Her dad, meanwhile, is entertaining the rest of the table. Octavia seems happy to be out for a night, chatting comfortably. Clarke enjoys her enthusiasm. She’s loud and brash and unapologetic. Jake loves her immediately. Bellamy smiles.

* * *

The rest of the week goes well, and Anya starts talking through the plans for their short dance and their free dance. The free dance is an easier place for Clarke to start — it feels more familiar to her background in pairs. 

They spend every morning in the gym, running potential lifts before they ever make it to the ice. She’s lucky that she’s so flexible, because some of the ones that Anya wants to test are more physically demanding than those that she did in pairs, even if they’re restricted on the height. It’s fun, in an unexpected way, to test so many different combinations with Bellamy. It’s art, but it also feels weirdly like stuntwork.

She’s glad to be getting along with him so well. He was mostly nice as a kid, but she can also remember him having a temper, a short fuse that kept him constantly on the edge of anger. He seems more mellow now, even with the threat of competition looming only a few months away and a new partner slowing him down.

He’s a good sport about it all, laughing with her when the lifts go terribly wrong on the first few attempts. She spends a lot of time each morning wrapped entirely around his body in strange contortions. By the end of each session, they are quite literally covered in each other’s sweat.

In the afternoons, they spend time trying to translate their work to the ice. They practice doing their twizzles in time — it’s a new element for her, but the motions aren’t unfamiliar. They both have the technique, they just need to get into each other’s heads enough to be able to execute them in perfect synchronization. 

Anya starts stringing things together the day before Clarke’s parents are set to leave. They’re glad to be able to see pieces of the future program coming together before they go, and Clarke is surprised to see her mother looking a little proud after rehearsal has ended. She’s gross and sweaty and she and her mother aren’t hugging people anyway, but it makes her feel _something_ to see the pride there. Like maybe she made the right decision. Like she can actually make everyone happy with this plan. Like she wasn’t selfish for choosing this.

Anya lets her come late to their morning gym training the next day so she can say goodbye to her parents. She decides not to accompany them to the airport, but she drives over to their hotel and helps them with the last minute packing. She gives them both hugs in the lobby while they wait for the taxi to arrive.

“Thanks for letting me do this.”

“You’ll be great, sweetheart. You and Bellamy look like a good team.” Her dad smiles, the lines around his mouth becoming more pronounced. His smile lines are one of her favorite things about him. It’s nice to see how happy he always is, how much he loves her.

“Clarke… You look happy.” Her mom says. It’s a simple statement, not actually saying very much, but Abby too is smiling. It’s smaller, like she’s not used to it. The wrinkles on her face tend to be more from furrowed eyebrows and angry squinting rather than smiles. But the smile is as nice as her dad’s — his for its familiarity and hers for the novelty.

“I am. We’ll probably be awful this year. We might not even make it past Nationals for all I know. But I’ll be happier.”

The thought of not going beyond Nationals is probably like acid on Abby’s tongue, but she forces out, “That’ll be okay — this year at least! — as long as this is what you want. And I know it is.”

It’s probably the nicest thing her mother has ever said to her that wasn’t in reference to a particularly well-executed axel.

The taxi pulls up outside. Clarke gives them both another quick hug. “Text me when you land so I know you made it back okay.”

“Of course.” Her dad presses a kiss to her forehead. “Now get back to the gym so you can make it past Nationals.”

“Copy that,” she smiles, saluting him. With one last wave, she gets into her car, watching them load their luggage in the trunk of the taxi with the driver’s help before she drives off.

* * *

It doesn’t take as long as one might expect to get the bare bones of a full free dance down. She’s new to the discipline, but she’s a professional, and one of the best skaters of the decade. She’s adaptable.

Anya had decided earlier to have them dance to a selection from Tristan and Isolde. It’s full of love and a deep and powerful sadness. Apparently it’s _a good piece, but not one you’d use on an Olympic year_. Which is more than fine with Clarke. She hopes Anya isn’t tied to this song or the routine she’s crafting, since there’s still a chance that Clarke will botch this for them and they’ll have a short season with no real exposure.

The short program is a little more challenging, if only because it requires a lot more work off the ice. This is the first year that ice dancing will include a short program, replacing two separate dances from years past called the original dance and the compulsory dance. She’s not mad that they’ve decided to smash the two into one requirement, but short dances have to follow specific guidelines beyond the normal compulsory element of other programs.

The short program each year will have a different style of music which their piece must fit. This year is a Golden Waltz, with requirements for the tempo of the song. They also have to include a specific segment of a golden waltz within their program, which will be the most challenging part for her. Figure skating is dancing of a sort, but she’s never actually waltzed, so it’ll just require getting comfortable with that first.

Anya makes them go to a waltzing class, which is actually pretty fun. The instructors Harper and Monty are really good at helping her through the moves. It only takes a few days for it to start feeling natural, no longer needing to count every beat and remember the various placements of her feet. On ice, it’ll need to be fluid and controlled, so effortless that people sitting at home on their couches pause to wonder if they could put on their old skates, jump onto the ice, and manage to do it too. Anya keeps having them work with Harper and Monty, with morning dance classes replacing their gym time.

Their short dance ends up being to a piece from La Boheme, and even though it’s mere presence in her life is exhausting, she actually enjoys it. It’s light and beautiful to watch, technically difficult to do well but lovely when they manage it.

It takes over a month to feel confident in the short dance, but they start running both programs, making major changes where they feel they could up the difficulty or removing things that feel awkward and clunky. She is insistent that no one dumb the routines down on her account — she’d rather spend every moment of her day at the rink perfecting the pieces than perform something for beginners. She’s long passed her days skating in Junior Championships and she’s not planning to look like that’s where she belongs. 

Jasper’s glares grow stronger in the time that they workshop their programs. She’s not trying to be a dick, but she can see that he and Maya are weaker performers which keeps them out of the highest ranks. They’re objectively still amazing — some of the better skaters in the game, but even with her own impediments, she never feels the need to glare back. They aren’t her biggest threats.

Anya, a big proponent of tough love, likes to remind her the advantages that her biggest opponents do have. Despite years of being technically perfect in her skates, she’s not quite up to scratch on the technical side of ice dance. Surprisingly, Bellamy isn’t either, but he makes up for that in strength that a lot of their competitors don’t put into their performances. Other ice dancers generally instead choose light and airy to Bellamy’s high intensity. He’s fast and immensely powerful in his skating, which Clarke tries to match. If their strength is going to be in athleticism rather than perfected technique, then she is going to lean into it and learn to match him. Luckily, after years of strenuous and consistent training, she can keep up with Bellamy’s abilities well.

Anya speeds up parts of their free dance, letting them lean into the melancholy between the lovers. She wants to highlight their power, moving through fast twizzles (which Clarke’s fucking mastered, thanks) and quick-moving, evocative lifts. They fly across the ice, not letting a moment of the song go to waste, and everytime they finish a run they’re both exhausted. 

She feels more secure in how things are coming together. The short program’s waltz feels comfortable, flowing from them with an ease she enjoys. The Tristan and Isolde free dance feels powerful — a sad story that they race through like they are ticking down the seconds of their lives together as star-crossed lovers before the end. Free dances don’t always need to be a story, and they could skate to the song without evoking the actual pairing Tristan and Isolde, but Bellamy likes to invest himself in the history. He’d read as much as he could about them from the Arthurian legends, even going so far as to make Clarke a document summarizing the story so she wouldn’t have to bother reading the Wikipedia.

She likes the dance, and after months of work with Bellamy and Anya, working out in the gym and then running through parts of the programs until it’s ingrained, she feels as strong as he is. They skate with speed and grace, floating through quickly timed movements with perfect synchronization. 

It would be wrong to say it’s too easy considering the hundreds of hours of work they’ve poured into this, but she supposes it _is_ too easy in some ways. Which is why she shouldn’t be surprised when the other shoe drops.

They’ve finished running through a particularly tricky section, a lift that ends with them staring into each other’s eyes before she dramatically pulls herself away from him while he chases after her. They’re about to re-run it, wanting to get the footwork down better, when Anya calls out to them.

They skate over to her. She stares directly at Clarke, her eyes piercing. “You are in love with him.”

Clarke blinks. “Uh, what?” She lets out a little laugh, not really sure where to go from here. Deflecting with humor is her only real move. “Have you been reading my diary?”

Bellamy laughs a little too, but it’s clear he’s also confused. 

“No,” Anya says. “You are in love with him. Isolde, when she looks at him, is in deep and passionate love. But it is a tragedy. You need to get into that role. It’s not just about skating powerfully or looking pretty or having your toes in the perfect position. To the audience, you are in love with him. That must come through in the performance. There needs to be more chemistry.”

“I thought you said we had good chemistry?” Bellamy asks. “On Clarke’s first day.”

“You have great chemistry as skaters. You are friends, you get along on and off the ice. I don’t have to stop you from ripping each other’s heads off, even if you do constantly bicker like fucking children. That dynamic works for you as a team, but you need to get into the chemistry of the performance. When the music starts, you aren’t friends anymore. You’re lovers in an impossible situation or whatever the fuck happens in this story — the internet told me it’s basically Romeo and Juliet. And no, Bellamy, I don’t want you to explain it again,” she says the last part in a rush, trying to stop him before he can start.

Clarke tries to work through these directions. “So you want me to, uhh…”

“Have basic human emotions, yes. You’re familiar with them, I assume.”

Clarke mulls it over for a second before sort of shrugging. “Sorry, I’m newly 19 and have dedicated my life to this shit. Romantic love is a nebulous concept to me.”

Anya puts her face in her palms like Clarke’s candor is trying her patience. “Why can’t skaters ever be normal teenagers?” She mumbles.

Clarke quirks an eyebrow at Bellamy, hoping he knows what will fix this, but he just returns her shrug from earlier. Whatever else might be true about figure skaters, no one can say that they aren’t to some degree emotionally stunted.

Anya turns back to them, straightening her back with resolve. “We’ll work on it. I have a few ideas.”


	3. Chapter 3

It turned out that Anya did have a few ideas on how to increase the passion of the performance. It’s just that Clarke wishes she’d had fewer ideas.

* * *

**Bad Idea 1: Take a salsa class**

When Anya tells them that their normal Wednesday morning waltzing rehearsal will be replaced with a salsa dancing class, Clarke assumes she’s joking.

“Trying to get us ready for next season’s short program before we’ve even managed this year’s?”

Anya doesn’t laugh. “No. And next season we’ll be doing a samba, not a salsa.”

“Okay, so why are we salsa dancing when Clarke clearly still needs help with the waltz?”

She elbows Bellamy in the ribs. “Shut up, dick. I’m practically Cinderella out there.”

“Only when Harper’s helping you.” He snarks. She rolls her eyes.

Anya claps loudly to get their attention. “Banter on your own time. I told you we were going to work on increasing your chemistry. Salsa dancing is a great way to become more comfortable with each other. Harper and Monty are going to spend the morning just doing Salsa with the two of you. You’re not permitted to think about the waltz, or Tristan and Isolde, or anything about your skating. Your job is to learn to be salsa partners.”

And by the time they get to class, Clarke is ready to take Anya’s goal of increased performance chemistry seriously, but Bellamy makes it difficult.

It’s clear that he knows how to salsa, at least more or less. Ice dance requires knowing how to do a lot of different dances since the short program has rotating style requirements each year. He’s good at adapting to patterned dances quickly, so he stumbles  _ far less _ than Clarke does in the beginning. 

She’s a professional, so it doesn’t take her  _ that long _ to get the basics down, but he doesn’t stop making fun of her sloppy footwork.

“I don’t usually have bloody feet  _ before  _ I get on the ice. This is new for me.”

“Fuck off, Bellamy. I haven’t stepped on your feet in at least ten minutes.”

“Yeah, but you were close with that last move. Anya should’ve warned me; I could’ve come prepared with steel-toed boots.”

She deliberately missteps so she can bring her toes down hard on his. “Oops. Guess I am bad at this.”

“Thanks, Nuisance. It’s not like I’ll need these feet for anything later.”

“Stop calling me nuisance.”

“But it’s your nickname!” His voice is mock-offended. “I put a lot of heart into that name, I’ll have you know.”

He leads her through a spin in their dance. Monty and Harper aren’t even paying attention to them, taking the time to dance together instead. If it wasn’t kind of adorable it would be disgusting. They clearly know that this exercise is more about connection than ability, so leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone to  _ define the fake relationship _ or whatever is better than hovering.

She leans in slightly, saying in a low voice, “Then I guess you’ll have to get a new one, Blake.”

The song comes to a finish, and he steps back, bowing deeply. “Noted, Princess Isolde.” When she scowls, he smiles in return. “You asked for a new nickname and provided no guidelines.  _ Princess _ it is.”

“Was Isolde even a princess? I don’t remember that being part of the story.”

His eyes get wide. “ _ Yes. _ Jesus, Clarke. Didn’t you read the notes I gave you on the legend? That was literally right at the top of the page, and—” 

He stops when he notices her shoulders shaking with laughter.

“You did read them, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Bellamy, jeez. Or … I at least heavily skimmed them. Enough to definitely know she was some princess from Ireland.”

“Well just for that I’m never changing your nickname again. Sorry, Princess, but apparently the shoe fits.”

“Oh my god Bellamy, shut up.”

She rolls her eyes.

They return from their dance class still arguing. Anya has to put her head in both of her hands for at least 40 seconds while she tries not to kill them.

* * *

**Bad Idea 2: Go to an acting class**

Acting classes, according to both Anya and Bellamy, are useful tools for ice dancers in a pinch. There is a lot that can be taught about forming a non-verbal connection in an acting class, so Anya has them go to one she sets up the next week. 

There are actually a few other students in this class, mostly younger skaters looking to get into ice dancing or pairs. An acting class can give them a leg up in the future. It even (supposedly) helps with things like tracking your partner’s skating, though by now Clarke is so attuned to Bellamy that she doesn’t have to worry about that.

The teacher takes them through a few basic exercises. They start by mirroring each other’s movements, taking the lead one at a time so they each have a chance to be the mirror. 

Clarke isn’t sure exactly how this is meant to help them pretend to be in love, but she does amuse herself quickly by making Bellamy do stupid things. She might’ve felt bad if he didn’t immediately return the favor in kind.

She makes him mirror her fake picking their noses.

He makes her sniff her armpit and recoil in disgust.

She makes him do part of the Single Ladies dance.

He makes her twerk (the results on both sides are, frankly, embarrassing).

By the end of the exercise, she hasn’t managed to learn anything about how to be in fake love with him, but she has made sure that every youth in their class thinks their skating heroes are the stupidest fucking people on the planet, so…

Progress.

They go through a few other exercises meant to help their character development, but it all feels a bit silly. Nothing seems to be making any notable impact, which is potentially because they aren’t taking it very seriously, but also none of it feels very serious.

The last exercise includes  putting a name to the feeling that their characters are experiencing, and then trying to physicalize that word.

“So, they’re in love,” Clarke says.

“Thanks for stating the obvious, Princess.”

She huffs. “What’s your word then?”

“Desperation. They are desperately in love with each other, whether it’s because they drank a love potion or just because they care about each other deeply. They know it’s doomed but they still feel this horrible, desperate need to be together.”

“Perfect. I’m so good at portraying a  _ horrible, desperate need _ to be with you. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of.”

“Shut up and pretend you love me, Isolde.”

The acting teacher lets them run a few of their more passionate moments in the routine as their means of physicalizing the word  _ desperate _ . They run through a lift which ends with Clarke still wrapped in Bellamy’s arms, looking longingly into his eyes. Or at least she should be looking longingly. Instead she just looks like a mixture of confused and constipated.

“Seriously Clarke, are your emotions behind a pane of glass in your brain?”

“Yeah, where I can see them and never have to interact with them. The ideal place to stow them away.”

He rolls his eyes. “We’re so fucked.”

“Because your look is so much more desperate. Such a deep and passionate love radiating from you.”

“Maybe if you weren’t a constant thorn in my side—”

“You love bickering, so don’t pretend you’re above any of this. Arguing with me is the most fun you have all week.”

He smiles, because they both know that hating each other is just part of their friendship. It wouldn’t be the Griffin / Blake team without constant friendly antagonism.

Neither of them notices that he never set her down at any point during their argument, sniping at each other while she clings to him.

When they return, Anya is visibly unimpressed.

* * *

**Bad Idea 3: Watch a romantic film together**

Raven had laughed — actually full out  _ laughed _ — when Clarke had told her of the plan. She hadn’t mentioned the other two failed attempts as they were happening because they still felt like part of her regular training days — acting and dance classes weren’t out of the realm of normal for figure skaters, so it still felt like work. This plan … doesn’t.

Naturally, Raven loved nothing more than to hear about Clarke’s  _ ridiculously attractive new partner. Seriously Griffin, so much hotter than Finn. So much. _

Direct quote from Raven after the cursory google search of his past performances. Clarke refrained from commenting on the appearance of her partner for obvious reasons of being glorified coworkers. It was probably some form of workplace harassment. 

Still Raven helped her sort through which films would be best to watch. She and Bellamy had already seen  _ Tristan + Isolde _ together after Clarke made the joke about her not being a princess, but that had mainly been in lieu of Clarke doing real research. She’s not even sure why he’d wanted to watch it with her since he critiqued the “accuracy” the whole time. Neither of them had been attempting to lean into the doomed romance of it all during that movie night.

Anya said romantic comedies would only be used as a last resort, so they were trying to decide if this felt like a  _ Titanic _ moment or  _ A Walk to Remember  _ (which Raven said very definitively was the only decent Nicholas Sparks film). Raven even threw some new film called  _ Remember Me _ in for consideration, which was apparently good despite having some guy from  _ Twilight _ in it.

Clarke didn’t much care which film it was since the whole exercise felt a bit awkward, so she just rented all three and then tried to forget about the DVD cases sitting on her little coffee table.

Anya released them from rehearsal on Friday an hour early so they would have time to ‘do their homework’, a statement that somehow made the innocuous action of watching a film with a friend feel so much less normal. Bellamy just smiled at her.

“A whole extra hour off. I’m not sure what we should do with ourselves,” he said as they made the short walk between the rink and her building. “Celebrate with a pizza?”

“Pizza? Really?” She asked.

“Yeah Clarke, a pizza. I wasn’t suggesting an all-night rager and a dime bag of cocaine. I think we’ve been good with sticking to our diets.” She looks skeptical. “I’ll even get it with veggies.”

“Fine, but no one ever tells my mom about this.”

“Jesus, what’s her problem? My mom never cares if I splurge as long as it’s infrequent.”

“That’s because you’re, like, 2% body fat. The argument doesn’t hold up for women — the day I hit puberty was the day my mom saw all her dreams die before her eyes.”

“Your mom is, like, intense to an unhealthy level. No offense.”

“My whole old training center was like that. Catty moms judging the figure of every girl and slapping away even the thought of dessert. My old coach Nia had another student she worked with, a younger girl named Rose, who completely broke down because of the pressure and how much it was affecting her eating. Had to go for in-patient treatment. I think she decided to quit for good. It’s a lot nicer here — there aren’t quite enough skaters to have that level of animosity, even if Jasper never stops glaring at me.”

“Well Jasper is a petty bitch and it’s too late to fix him now. But Michigan sounds like a hellhole.”

“Hence why I quit both of the sports I was actually trained in and moved myself halfway across the country to train with you. I was serious about you not being able to get rid of me. There’s no chance I’m going back to that.”

“Well, Princess, you’re under my protection now.” He hooks his arm gently around her neck and then noogies her like she’s actually five again. “I’ll beat up any haters, up to and including your mom. With your permission of course.”

She laughs. “Noted. Might take you up on that someday. I have a long list of haters. Like Taylor Swift except without the country good-girl attitude.”

“Yeah, you like to earn your haters the old fashioned way — talent and a penchant for being passive aggressive all the time.”

“The way god intended.”

“So, for real. Pizza? We can skip it and eat something that is definitely 80% broccoli if you prefer, but the pizza option is still there. I really won’t tell. What Nyko doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“We’ll compromise. A medium pizza so we don’t stuff ourselves and something that is 80% broccoli as a side dish.”

“Sounds good. Welcome to the dark side.”

They don’t bother with the movie for a long time, enjoying chatting, cooking, and waiting for their pizza to arrive. Bellamy is the stupidest smart person she knows, so they mostly spend the early evening making fun of each other. 

It’s not until they’re sitting on her couch, midway through a medium veggie supreme pizza, that she notices the DVDs again. It’s a weird feeling, to be so relaxed and at ease with Bellamy and yet so awkward. It’s the idea of romance that makes her feel squiggly and uncomfortable — Bellamy treats her more like an especially annoying little sister, and he has experience with those already so it’s probably genuine. Having to portray lovers convincingly…

It’s going to be a disaster.

But she committed herself to doing this, and Clarke is nothing if not petty and desperate to prove people wrong, so she’s not going to let her inability to process human emotions get in the way of being successful. She’d rather lose a competition for bad form or not being artistic enough — failing because you can’t act like a person would be plain embarrassing.

So she jolts herself out of their conversation about why Cartoon Network shows were so fucked up when their audience was little kids to hastily pick up the movies. If he notices her abrupt shift into awkwardness, he’s at least kind enough not to eviscerate her for it. She probably would’ve made fun of him if the tables were turned.

“Which one? You can choose. Raven said they’re all sad. I guess  _ Titanic _ is kind of a given though.”

He looks them all over, pausing to glance at the descriptions on the back. “ _ Titanic _ is closest to what we’re trying to achieve, but it’s also really long. We can save that one for if we really fuck this up and Anya makes us try again.”

He stands up to put in  _ A Walk to Remember _ .

* * *

The next two hours are painful. She can’t help but be too aware of her body, like if she shifts in just the wrong way she’ll end up with their thighs pressed together. Every second is stiff, which is only made more annoying because Bellamy looks completely at ease. His arm rests comfortably along the back of the couch and he’s slouched into the cushions instead of sitting ramrod straight.

It’s not even a bad movie. Maybe a little corny, but she can understand why most of the writing choices were made. It’s just weird to try to imagine looking at Bellamy like Jamie looks at Landon. Or having Bellamy look at her the way Landon does. It makes her skin feel like it’s on wrong. Not in a bad way — she’s not repulsed by Bellamy or anything. It’s just new and strange and not something she has the desire to analyze.

The characters are out stargazing when Bellamy cracks, tugging on a strand of her hair to get her attention like they’re kids on a playground. 

“Will you relax? You’re stressing me out, and I’m supposed to be feeling sad or romantic or something.”

“Sorry! Sorry. It’s just a little weird, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Gina and I used to try to play into the romance. We weren’t very good at it because we didn’t have a lot of chemistry that way, but I’m used to the attempt. It’s like being in a play — they’re characters in a story. For four minutes you have to pretend like you’re Isolde in love with Tristan. No one watching will even care about who the characters are or the legends they’re from, but they’ll see the romance and understand what we’re trying to convey.” He pauses, then adds, “Hopefully.”

She takes a deep breath before leaning back. His arm is behind her, still on the couch, and though it’s completely casual and they aren’t even touching, she does notice it. Now would be a great time to not be emotionally incompetent. Raven would probably die to be in her place right now. Apparently rebound sex was easy to come by in Chicago, but getting in another relationship was another, more difficult matter.

Clarke wasn’t nearly as bothered about putting herself back out there. She had liked Finn at the time, but a lot of it was merely because of the convenience. There was no spare time in her life to try to find someone else, and that was okay. Ice dance would be her first and only love, and Raven and Bellamy would be enough to keep her life exciting.

She’s sure Raven would consider that a lonely life, but that’s only because Raven is a bombshell mechanic who has men lusting after her all the time. Clarke doesn’t need any of that — she can live vicariously through Raven, after all. That’s what friends are for.

The movie finishes with a wedding and a premature but expected death. Mandy Moore’s singing plays over the credits when — 

“What the  _ hell? _ ” Clarke asks, surprisingly loud in the quiet apartment. 

“What?” Bellamy’s eyes are shiny but his voice is steady.

Clarke, meanwhile, had lost the fight against her silent tears about three minutes ago and now has an embarrassing collection of snot under her nose. “Why do people watch this stuff? That was awful!”

“I don’t know — masochism?” He laughs lightly, gently running his shirtsleeve-covered palm across her cheek, trying to dry it. “Is this your first experience with sad films? Films in general?” He pauses. “The human experience of sadness?” She swats at him, and he grins. “I’m just trying to gage where you are in the process of becoming self-actualized so I can offer the correct amount of support!”

“I don’t know, loser. I guess I just don’t watch a lot of sad things. And nothing in my life is really sad, which I guess is lucky. It all skews closer to dull meaninglessness, but you should know that feeling as a fellow skater. Chasing after gold circles our whole lives.” She laughs, but the sound is wet.

“You’re ridiculous. Well, welcome to the feeling of sadness. It sucks. Think you can channel that in your performance?”

“Maybe. Hopefully. You remind me a little of Landon, so I’ll just focus on that.”

His face gets pinched in a cute, confused way. “Why do I remind you of him?”

“Former rebel who very probably just wants to get mushy with someone forever and drive a dad car?” She looks at him pointedly.

“Okay, first — rude.”

“It wouldn’t offend you if I wasn’t right!”

“And secondly, former rebel? Me?”

“Oh come on, Blake. I obviously googled you too before agreeing to uproot my whole life. There wasn’t a lot to find from your skating stuff, but Raven found pictures on your facebook, and apparently you used to be a lot wilder than lame Bellamy who spends Friday night on my couch with a semi-responsible dinner.” She grins. “Don’t tell me you weren’t at least a little bit of a rebel.”

“If having a social life and occasionally underage drinking is rebellious, then I guess you’re right. But now I’m a fully legal 21 year old, so I have to be above it all. Everyone knows that drinking is only fun when it’s also illicit.”

“Well I’ll let you know when I decide to hit my rebel phase, but as I only have 2 years until I’m 21 and too old, I’ll have to do it quick.”

“Just don’t let it fuck with our future gold circle. I still want it.”

* * *

**Bad Idea 3.5: Watch a romantic film together** **_and then stare at each other_ **

The next morning at their Saturday rehearsal (which starts at the  _ second _ session instead of the first, to celebrate the concept of weekends in a sport that doesn’t much care what day of the week it is), Anya is anxious to see if any progress has been made.

“Okay, okay,” she says, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Let me see what we’re working with.”

Bellamy and Clarke start taking their skate guards off, preparing to start a run-through of their  _ Tristan and Isolde _ program, but Anya’s sharp voice cuts them off.

“No. Sit.” She gestures to the bleachers just behind them.

Bellamy quirks an eyebrow, but neither of them voice their questions aloud.

“Now face each other. Stop looking at me like I’m crazy and look at each other.” She swats at them lightly. “And I mean with actual eye contact, Clarke. Stop trying to look at the ground.”

Clarke swallows. For some reason, being told to make prolonged eye contact with colleague slash friend Bellamy Blake when they aren’t in the middle of a performance or even on the ice makes her stomach flip uncomfortably. Especially after having to watch a mandated romance film with him the night before. 

Anya circles them, keenly eyeing their comfortability with each other (which she rates currently as  _ concerningly low _ ). “What film did you watch?”

Clarke glances at her, saying, “ _ A Walk to Remember. _ ”

Anya just pokes her cheek, pushing it back so she’s once again facing Bellamy. “Don’t look at me; look at him. Did you like it?”

Bellamy answers this time, though he keeps his eyes on Clarke. “It was good. Clarke cried.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

Anya cuts in before they can start bickering. “What was the romance plot?”

Clarke clears her throat. “Teens fall in love. Cancer exists. They get married and she dies.”

“Good.” Clarke doesn’t know if Anya’s complimenting the movie choice for its relevance to their performance or if she is just showing a general support for teen cancer. 

The thought might’ve made her laugh, except then Anya takes Bellamy’s hand from his lap, lifting it and gently placing it so it cups Clarke’s cheek. His hand is big and warm on her face, comforting in a way that feels entirely unfamiliar.

Anya speaks again, but it takes a second for Clarke’s brain to register the question. The longer she is made to stare directly into Bellamy’s eyes, the more she feels like Anya is trying to hypnotize them. If someone told her that  _ she was getting very sleepy, _ she’d probably do whatever they said.

“Most romantic part of the film, Bellamy?”

He doesn’t even need to think of the answer, gazing at her with intensity as he says, “When Landon helped her with her bucket list, and when he built the telescope.”

“And Clarke? Most romantic part of the film?”

“When Jamie says that she’s scared of not being with him.” The answer surprises her, but it comes out without thinking. If Bellamy had asked her the same question the night prior, she might’ve said the wedding, or maybe even the scene where he kissed her during their school play. The short scene she chose wouldn’t have even crossed her mind.

Anya takes Clarke’s opposite hand, placing it on Bellamy’s jawline, her thumb resting on his cheek. She almost feels like it’s all happening to someone else, like she’s not attached to her body. Still, she doesn’t miss the way his jaw clenches briefly under her fingers.

“Why?” Anya begins circling them again, but Clarke only notices it distantly, a peripheral thought.

“They both know what’s going to happen in the end, but he still says that she’ll never be without him. He comforts her even though it hurts.”

Her thumb idly caresses Bellamy’s cheek once, unthinkingly.

She hears their music for their free dance playing quietly in the background, loving and powerful and melancholic. It sounds like she’s listening to it from underwater. She doesn’t even know when Anya turned it on.

“Did you like that scene, Bellamy?” 

Anya sounds distant.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He swallows. “They’ve found their person, even if it’s for a short time. They believe what they have is stronger than death.”

Anya seems pleased. “Like Romeo and Juliet. Or Tristan and Isolde.”

Bellamy hums in agreement.

“And could you picture Clarke as your Jamie?”

Bellamy still looks stupefied, like he’s under the same spell as she is, but he manages a gentle laugh. “Not in temperament, though maybe in their innocence.”

Anya laughs quietly as well, clearly amused but not wanting to break them out of the moment. “She doesn’t have to be  _ like _ Jamie; you just have to see her as  _ your  _ Jamie _. _ Can you do that?”

“I think so.”

“And Clarke? Can you picture Bellamy as your Landon? Someone who you never want to be without, even when it’s painful?”

His hand on her cheek is so warm. For a second she wishes she could look away from him — just close her eyes and nuzzle further into the comfort of his palm. She can’t remember the last time someone touched her for the simple joy of doing so. Her eyes never leave his as she says, “Yes.” She’s never felt quite so soft, so nakedly vulnerable. 

They rest in the peace of the moment,  _ Tristan and Isolde _ still playing quietly over the speakers. Then — 

“Good,” Anya says in a louder voice, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. They jerk apart, each turning to look at her. “That exercise was the best breakthrough we’ve had yet. Prolonged eye contact is meant to help increase intimacy between pairs. Now, take a five minute break and then be ready to channel that energy on the ice.”

Clarke’s eyes are wide, a warm blush staining her cheeks, though the spot where his hand had just been resting feels cold now. Bellamy chuckles to himself, almost self-consciously.

Before he can try to say anything to bridge the awkward silence, Clarke jumps to her feet. “I’m going to get my water.”

She walks out without turning around. She’s not even heading in the direction of her water bottle.

* * *

She returns to rehearsal an unprofessional 13 minutes later, but Anya is polite enough not to comment on it. Clarke doesn’t know if Anya is aware that she just sent her protegee into an existential crisis about love and emotions in the beginning of a long rehearsal day, but she keeps a cool demeanor while telling Clarke and Bellamy to run the middle chunk of their routine a few times before they put the whole thing together.

Throughout the morning, Clarke consistently gives her most convincing performance yet as the confused, scared, passionate, and desperate lover. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of almost all of her technique. When Anya flipped the switch in her brain to make her  _ feel things _ (gross), it eclipsed almost anything else in her mind.

Bellamy gives her a few bemused looks between their run-throughs, but he doesn’t ask her why she suddenly can’t rotate her twizzles in time with his even though they’re one of the first things that she mastered.

Of course Bellamy’s skating is somehow still next to perfect even as he gives a more convincing performance as Tristan. It’s unfair how he can stare longingly into her eyes during a pause in their movements before skating off to perfectly execute their next stunt as though he hadn’t just be  _ staring into her soul while talking about a fucking Nicholas Sparks film like it’s high art. _ Somewhere in a distant world, the gods laugh at her for being such a moron.

Despite all of Clarke’s …  _ everything _ , Anya is still pleased by the end of rehearsal.

“Much better performances today. I think you are both finally understanding the connection you need to showcase. We’ll start fixing the technical issues tomorrow.” She doesn’t specifically glance at Clarke when she says this, but she knows it’s directed at her. 

Clarke just nods, wanting to be anywhere else. She doesn’t really know why she feels so out of sorts about what happened this morning — it was weird, sure, but it shouldn’t feel so earth-shattering. Maybe Anya managed to break through the glass wall that kept her emotions in check, and now she doesn’t know what to do with them all. 

She knows it’s not about Bellamy. Not really. He isn’t in love with her and she isn’t in love with him — they’re roleplaying. This could’ve happened with anyone. Finn, if he’d still been her partner. Jasper, in some alternate universe where she moved here to skate with him. Even Gabriel, if Clarke had moved into pairs earlier and been matched with him before Josie was. 

It’s not about Bellamy as a person, or even Bellamy as her friend. Those things are still safe, locked behind a second, secret piece of glass that protects the things that matter to her, like her family and friendships. 

But Bellamy as a concept, as the idea of a lover … that’s a problem. It makes her feel twisted up inside, nervous and uncomfortable. This simulation of romantic love is perhaps the closest she’s ever come to the real emotion, and it’s strange. 

Her fingers twitch at her sides as Anya continues talking, saying things that Clarke can’t possibly be expected to listen to in the middle of a crisis.

When they’re dismissed, she runs off to remove her skates and shove them in her bag. She almost makes it out of the complex when she hears Bellamy run up behind her.

“Hey, Princess. Weird day. Want to grab dinner and make fun of someone on reality tv to forget about it?”

And she feels sick to her stomach with these new ideas and questions rolling around in her head, but she also knows that an evening with colleague slash friend Bellamy Blake (as opposed to fake lover Bellamy Blake) might help her get things straightened out, so she says:

“Sure. My place?”

* * *

By the time smaller qualifying competitions come around, Clarke and Bellamy are more than prepared for both of their routines. They aren’t perfected by any means, but it’s enough to get them through to at least Nationals, where they’ll see how they land against other US teams. She isn’t trying to come in too cocky, but she’s watched  _ extensive _ footage from last year’s Nationals, and she feels like she’ll be okay at least that far. After all, she managed to get to Worlds in her first year as a pairs skater with Finn. What she might have lacked in experience in ice dance at the beginning of the season has been more than compensated for with her immense work ethic, the help of Bellamy and Anya, and the skills she’d already possessed from years as one of the best skaters in the world.

It’s not a surprise come January when they take gold in the US Nationals in North Carolina. Her parents had even flown out to watch the show, having decided not to watch any of the online recordings from their earlier competitions so they could be suitably impressed by her work in person.

Her dad gives her the biggest hug when she sees him after the competition, muttering into her hair about  _ how happy you looked out there, sweetheart.  _ She smiles and says she hopes she hadn’t looked too happy during the free dance, considering how much work had gone into learning how to be suitably forlorn in love.

It’s her mom’s reaction that surprises her though. She had been proud the day previous after watching their Grand Waltz in the short dance, but after seeing Tristan and Isolde today, she’s actually crying. Fat, genuine tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Clarke, sweetie, I’m so proud of you.”

She smiles at her mother, happy for the first time to have her honest approval.

“Thank you, mom. I’m really glad I switched. I don’t think I would’ve survived another year at home with Josie and Gaia and Luna.”

“No, no.” She pats at her face, trying to wipe away the wetness. “You were clearly meant to ice dance. You both looked so beautiful.” She turns to Bellamy, still standing beside Clarke and holding a bouquet which matches hers. He smiles at Abby, thanking her.

“Clarke and I make a great team. I think we have a shot at making this into something in the next few years.”

Her dad claps him on the shoulder. “Griffin / Blake representing Team USA. We’ll be excited to go to Sochi to support you both.”

Clarke smiles. “I think we have a few years to worry about in between. And Four Continents next in Taiwan! We only have a few weeks to get this perfected before then.”

“Clarke,” her mother laughs. “Your scores were ridiculously high compared to everyone else’s. I know the international competition will be tougher, but I think you have a strong chance of making it to the podium in Taiwan and even in Russia in April.”

Clarke’s eyes go wide. “Don’t even start talking about Worlds or we’ll end up jinxed. We’re just happy that we can go.”

Her dad smiles, full of joy and pride. “You’ll both be great.”

Clarke wraps her arm around Bellamy’s waist. “We try.”

* * *

They workshop the programs as much as possible between Nationals and Four Continents, but there isn’t a lot that can be fixed in the timespan they have. They know that Four Continents is nearly as important for them as worlds, since the best ice dancing teams are from non-European countries (the only continent which has its own competition and doesn’t attend Four Continents) anyway. It’s basically a test-run for how well they’ll finish out their first season.

Clarke’s mother is right — they don’t need to worry about making it onto the podium, although that doesn’t stop them from being incredibly stressed in the lead up. Clarke and Bellamy take third place due to a small technical mistake in one of the required elements of their waltz. They are close to the second place team, another Canadian pair who Clarke doesn’t recognize. Lexa and Tristan take first place by a comfortable margin, which sort of pisses Clarke off from a competitive standpoint even though she knows she and Bellamy were at a disadvantage compared to a team who had spent their whole lives skating together.

When they receive their flowers and medals on the podium, Bellamy smiles wide. 

“You look happy,” she says, laughing.

“Are you not?”

The announcers begin calling for the second place team to skate onto the ice and join them on the podium.

“I am. Really happy. But I also know we could’ve beaten them. We were so close.”

“We were. But Clarke, we just got bronze at Four Continents. Last year Gina and I got bronze at the Olympics against the same competitors. At our weakest, we are already where Gina and I left off. In the next three seasons we can make up the point differences between us and the Canadians.”

She looks at the second place team, skating out while the crowd cheers for them. “Think we can make up the point difference between bronze and silver by Worlds?”

“You want us to beat them in April?”

She smiles confidently. ‘Yeah. Silver in Moscow. Let’s make Lexa and Tristan worried about what’s coming for them in the next few years.”

He grabs her hand, smiling out to the audience for the inevitable pictures being taken from the stands. “You’re crazy.” He turns his smile toward her. “Okay. Silver in Moscow.”

* * *

The weeks between Four Continents and Worlds are some of the most intense of Clarke’s life. Not because of the amount of training they do — they train often and each session is grueling, but her years in singles and pairs were harder physically. No, they’re intense because Clarke has seen the light at the end of the tunnel for something she genuinely, passionately wants, and she knows that they can get it if they just focus.

Sure, it’s not gold, but they’re trying to be realistic in their first year at Worlds. Silver is already a barely realistic expectation, only potentially achievable because they are both willing to put in the incredible amount of practice to get it on top of their years of separate work leading up to this. The whole process is a marathon rather than a sprint, but she can see the end now.

By the time they go to Moscow, she feels like she’s more Isolde than Clarke. Like Pavlov’s dogs, the second she hears their music play she’s instantly infatuated with Bellamy. Their embraces are fierce and all-consuming. When they are forced apart by the choreography, there is a tangible pain in their expressions.The lifts spin like butter, making something so physically demanding look like the simplest thing to do. There is an incredible amount of athleticism in their program, showcasing their pure force as skaters. It’s fast-paced, dark and fervent.  _ Desperate _ , just like Bellamy had wanted.

By the time they finish the performance on the ice listening to hundreds of people screaming for them, they are panting with exhaustion. As she catches her breath, she pulls Bellamy into a hug.

“We did it. I know it,” she whispers in his ear.

“I hope so, Princess.”

He pulls back, smiling. They go through their bows, waving briefly to the crowds and cameras before skating off the ice to watch their scores come in.

They’d had a great performance the day before, skating their waltz as perfectly as ever. Luckily with no flubs, they’d managed to take second place following the short dances, and if their scores were as good as she hoped today, they could keep that spot.

She and Bellamy sit with Anya in front of the cameras, hugging and talking while they wait the minute or two for their scores to come in. Bellamy places his hand gently on her knee to stop it from bouncing.

“It’ll be okay, Clarke. Whatever the score is.”

“I know. I know. But we did it. We had to have.”

Anya looks at them, appearing as happy as she ever does, which isn’t much. “I think you’ve done it. If not, the ISU judges are crazy.”

When they hear the announcement starting for their scores, Clarke wraps her hand around Bellamy’s on her knee. She barely catches anything that is said until they’re announcing the number.

“—score of 107.50.”

Bellamy jumps up, immediately pulling Clarke into a hug. The former second place Canadian team’s score had only been 96.88. The margin between them is massive compared to the Four Continents, and it is clear that their weeks of extra effort have more than paid off. Combined with the short dance from the previous day, they managed a combined score of 180.64, a glaringly competitive score against Lexa and Tristan. They will win, of course, but the message will be clear — Bellamy and Clarke are coming for their gold. 

* * *

Lexa and Tristan do win, but the margin is not as big as one might’ve expected between a seasoned team of Olympic gold medalists and a new pairing with a member who’d never ice danced before the summer after coming off a season-ending injury.

So, it’s safe to say that Clarke lets herself feel pretty smug. 

Her parents, who decided not to fly to Russia for the competition after realizing how badly it would mess with her dad’s work schedule, call her crying in the time it takes to set the ice up for the medal ceremony. They tell her how amazing the performances were and how proud they are of her and Bellamy. It might get old one day, hearing how constantly proud they are, but right now she lets herself enjoy it. Her mother has never been someone to show pride in her daughter’s achievements. Maybe moving out of the disciplines that Abby was the most familiar with allowed her to take a step back and watch Clarke non-critically.

She tells them she loves them before she goes, saying that she and Bellamy need to speak to a few reporters and take some photos before the awards.

“Still can’t believe we pulled it off, Princess.”

“I can. The perfectly executed last lift should’ve won us silver all on its own. You were great out there.”

He looks smug at her compliment. “I really was, wasn’t I?”

“And I was also there,” Clarke adds with a laugh.

“Fishing for compliments?” But his smile is so wide that it’s impossible to take him seriously. “You were amazing. Really. No offense but I’m so glad fucking Finn Collins decided to drop you on your head and you ended up with me.”

She’s startled by the bubbling of joy that sentence brings out in her. “I’m glad too. Even though that part really fucking sucked.”

He nods in commiseration, though he’s still beaming. “Even though that part really fucking sucked.”

They speak to a few of the reporters around in a casual capacity, not really doing interviews as such but just mentioning how glad they are to have had such a successful debut season as a team. Her phone buzzes a few times in the middle of the chats, and she lets Bellamy keep talking while she checks it.

**From: Raven —** First of all, fucking HOT performance

**From: Raven —** [series of fire emojis]

**From: Raven —** Second of all, the weird sports part of twitter has #Bellarke trending right now

The last text shows a moving gif of Bellamy and Clarke staring passionately, hopelessly, longingly into each other's eyes. She recognizes it as one of the final parts of their Tristan and Isolde routine. Someone must’ve made the gif very quickly (Clarke has no idea how gifs are made exactly, but it seems like it should take longer than the 30 or so minutes that have elapsed since they were doing that part of the dance live).

**From: Clarke —** Is Bellarke our team name? I mean obviously Griffin / Blake is our team name but maybe that’s harder to get trending? I don’t know how Twitter works.

**From: Raven —** Team name… sure. 

**From: Raven —** Also I normally would say it’s best to stay off Twitter so you don’t see the wild shit people say, but these accounts are all pretty dedicated to being your new biggest fans.

**From: Raven —** I’m going to make a Bellarke fan twitter account and ingratiate myself to the people.

**From: Clarke —** Don’t tell them anything embarrassing about me. Awards starting soon — I’ll text you later.

They still have a minute or two before they need to be prepared for awards, but this gives her enough time to pull Bellamy away from the reporter he’d been chatting with.

Once she has him on his own, she takes out her phone again, joking, “Look what Raven sent me. Apparently we have fans.”

They watch the gif, looping a few seconds of their intense stares as they pant from the exertion of the routine they’d just finished.

Bellamy’s lip quirks up slightly, but he just coughs instead of laughing. “We look good.”

“Damn straight we do. Hottest ice dance team out there.”

He smiles for real at that, taking her hand and saying, “C’mon, let’s get lined up for the awards.”

* * *

Her smile is so wide it hurts when they call her and Bellamy to the ice as the silver medalists. They skate to the podium, taking a few seconds to stop and wave at the crowds before they make their way to their destination.

When they reach the podium, the hug and exchange cheek kisses with the bronze team, congratulating them on their medal in the way that sounds the least condescending (and really, they aren’t trying to sound condescending, because part of competing is losing, but it’s still hard to come off as sincere when their medals had been flipped only a few weeks prior).

They take their places, smiling for photos and waving at the audiences who seem to love them with a sudden and vigorous ardour. It takes a few more seconds before they’re calling Lexa and Tristan out as the first place winners. 

The winning team skates around a few times, waving to the audience as Clarke and Bellamy had just done, before arriving at the podium and exchanging cheek kisses and congratulations to the silver and bronze teams. 

She’s never stopped to chat with either Lexa or Tristan, so the exchange is a bit strange, though they’d done the same thing at Four Continents not long ago. Tristan is polite, doing what is expected for the cameras, but there isn’t much to it.

Lexa, however, is suddenly friendly, smirking at Clarke with an undisguised interest. She leans in to kiss Clarke’s cheek, whispering “Congratulations” as she goes. Clarke smiles and thanks her, returning the gesture as custom dictates.

Before Lexa climbs onto the first place podium in the center, she takes Clarke’s hand briefly. “It’s been so lovely to meet you properly, Clarke.” She smiles before taking her spot.

The teams are all given their medals and flowers before the Canadian national anthem plays in honor of the winners. It takes several minutes for them to finally skate off the ice once all the pictures have been taken. Once they get back to the locker room area, Bellamy turns to her and says, “That was weird. What did Lexa want?”

“I don’t know, but she gave me this,” she says, holding up a piece of folded paper that Lexa had passed to her during their exchange. Bellamy’s face contorts in a weird way, so she jokes, “I don’t think it’s a death threat or anything, Bell. It’s fine.”

He laughs, but it sounds hollow.

She unfolds the paper, then lets out a soft, “Oh.”

On the scrap is written:

_ You were amazing out there, Clarke. If you’re ever in Seattle where we train, you should let me know. I’d love to buy you a coffee. _

There’s a little winking face next to where her number is written at the bottom.

Clarke lifts her brows in shock. That’s not what she’d expected from the person she’d been considering her biggest rival, but…

“Oh.” She says again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this, I thought "I've seen A Walk to Remember enough times to make a few vague references without doing a rewatch." Then I made way more references than I'd intended and basically rewatched the whole film out of order through short clips on Youtube. It was very dumb. One day I'll learn from my own mistakes.
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed the 2010-2011 figure skating season. We'll start moving quicker through the following seasons because otherwise we'll never make it to the Olympics, but the first year needed to be fleshed out so they could click as partners.
> 
> Hopefully you liked Anya's intimacy strategies. Bellamy and Clarke certainly did :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! I have a few video recommendations if you'd like to picture what some of the new figure skating season's dances will look like!
> 
> Their rhumba short dance was inspired by EITHER [Virtue and Moir](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPBOWNw3iMs) OR [Davis and White](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XyH8MpvWIo&t=284s) — feel free to watch one or both to get a feel for that piece.
> 
> Their free dance is to The Swan, which hasn't, to my knowledge, been used by any ice dancers yet. But, you can see a [singles skater](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZVsSoyMXdU) performing to the same song, and you can watch Virtue and Moir performing a [piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZG1cbrQtbQ&t=168s) with a similar level of grace that I picture for this song and scene. They won the 2010 Olympics with that one! 
> 
> As a warning, there is an instance in the chapter of an unwanted sexual advance — please be careful if this is at all triggering to you.
> 
> As always, enjoy the story!

There’s not a lot of time, in the immediate aftermath, to consider Lexa’s message. 

They have to head into a press conference shortly after with the other medaling teams. She’s used to the awkward formality of speaking to the press in situations like this; answers are long-winded and sanitized as much as possible to make them palatable for soundbites and news articles. No one is ever as outwardly angry as they feel for not taking gold, and no one ever gloats as much as they might when they do. This might be, of course, because some teams are actually decent, but the overwhelming majority of skaters Clarke has met couldn’t be considered anything of the sort, so more often than not, it’s just another part of the performance.

Naturally, most of the interview questions are fielded to Lexa and Tristan, a beloved team in Canada and around the world. Their dynamic is well-versed, comfortable and easy, if not very affectionate. It’s clear to Clarke almost instantly that Anya never would’ve needed to send these two to acting classes if she’d been their coach; they perform elegantly as romantic partners on the ice while having almost no chemistry in person. There is visible respect, but no strong hints of anything more. Impersonal, like true colleagues. It’s almost impressive that they’ve maintained such a strong working relationship for all these years while seemingly not even being friends.

Or at least that’s what Clarke’s flawed body-reading abilities are saying. But she’s pretty good at spotting the genuine partnerships from the bullshit after years in the skating world.

Eventually, though, the reporters seem to remember that there are two other teams present at the table, and questions start to come their way.

“This question is for Bellamy and Clarke.” One reporter starts. “You’ve only recently started skating together, following the injuries of both Gina Martin and yourself,” she says, gesturing to Clarke. “How have you adapted to a new dynamic together and, in Clarke’s case, ice dancing as a whole?”

Bellamy looks to her briefly, and she nods to him to allow him to start.

With his Very Serious Figure Skater face firmly in place in front of the press, he leans towards the microphone and says, “Obviously this question is mainly for Clarke, but I’ll say that having her for a partner has been great. I’d really thought that Gina’s retirement was going to be the end for me, or that it would at least set me back several years. Clarke’s decision to move into ice dancing came at the perfect time, and even though we only had half the normal amount of time to prepare our program for this season, we obviously have something really special together as skaters that I’m proud of. Working with her is basically any ice dancer’s dream.”

She laughs, knowing that he would never be this effusive if there weren’t reporters to impress. She’s also fairly sure that it’s all still true.

“He never compliments me this much to my face. Keep asking him to say nice things about me.” The press all chuckle, enjoying the interplay between a pair that they know relatively little about. “No, it’s been so great to train with Bellamy and Anya for the last several months. Long before the accident last year, I’d started to see skating as a chore. I knew that I had a lot of talent and that people wanted me to continue, but there wasn’t a lot of passion. Switching to ice dance and working with this team has really had such a tremendous impact on me. I’m glad to be here with Bellamy, even if I’ve spent every day at the rink terrified that I’d be holding him back this season. We put in an incredible amount of work, though, to make sure that whatever we did at Worlds would be our absolute best. We started this season not sure how we’d qualify past Nationals, so a silver today is well-beyond the best case scenarios we’d be anticipating.”

The reporter tacks on an addendum to her question, clearly hoping for just a little bit more. “And was it difficult in the beginning to make the transition into ice dance?”

“Not nearly as difficult as I’d worked it up to be in my mind,” she laughs, patting Bellamy’s hand where it rests on the table in front of them. “Bellamy was really patient in the beginning, even if he spent about 90% of every rehearsal laughing at me for messing things up. Having the background in pairs obviously helped a lot — I didn’t feel like I was completely starting over when I arrived for training. But Bellamy and I did a lot of work to feel comfortable skating together, and that made the whole process a lot easier. I imagine it would’ve been a completely different experience with someone who doesn’t have both Bellamy’s talent and good-humor.”

He leans forward again. “You should ask her to keep saying nice things about me, too. We’ve never said so many sustained compliments towards each other.” He laughs along with the press. They clearly enjoy whatever relationship dynamic exists between Bellamy and Clarke — a dynamic which is a bit artificial due to the presence of an audience, but is still mostly genuine. The playful jabs are just drowned out by nice words for once.

The next reporter clearly wants to capitalize on this friendly antagonism, asking, “Another question for Bellamy and Clarke. How did you decide to skate together, and what is your current relationship?”

Clarke is thrown for half a second, not anticipating the second half of the question, although it’s common enough between skaters with a strong connection.

“Well,” he starts, “Clarke and I skated together as children for a few years. Our parents wanted us to be a pairs team, so we started at five and seven before my family moved away a few years later. We didn’t really keep in contact, but Clarke’s decision to become an ice dancer came at exactly the right time for when I needed a partner. I was supposed to ask her a bunch of interview questions before deciding, but let's be honest: when _internationally-renowned skater Clarke Griffin_ comes to _you_ asking to form a partnership, you can’t really say no. So I was sold as soon as I heard she was interested.”

“Yeah, there was no one I’d rather skate with than Bellamy. Everything on my side happened so quickly that I didn’t even have a lot of time to be concerned about the ramifications of moving disciplines and finding a new partner, so being able to pair up with someone I knew to be both an amazing skater and a good person made the whole process a lot easier. I’m really grateful that he didn’t make me work too hard for it.”

“And your relationship?” The reporter prompts.

“Bellamy’s my best friend.” She turns, smiling at him. “I’m really lucky to be working with someone who I mesh with so well. We’re never this nice to each other normally, but it’s just because we’re really comfortable together. It makes skating feel less like work to be there with my best friend. And hopefully he’s taking all these words to heart because he’ll have to wait until next year’s press conferences to hear them again.”

Bellamy smiles softly. “Same answer for me.”

The reporter looks like he was hoping for something juicer between them — he’d probably seen the gifs — but he seems satisfied enough with what they’d given him.

* * *

Clarke would like to say that she started some grand romance after receiving Lexa’s message, but that wouldn’t be the truth.

Sure, it was nice in a confidence-boosting way to hear that Lexa was interested, but the three hour drive between them and the eagerness on her part to start preparing for their next season meant that there was never any real time after Moscow to start anything. She had texted a few times, out of polite friendliness, but she and Lexa were both in agreement that the timing was bad for them to meet up and have any form of coffee date, so things mostly faded into the background from there.

Still, even though Lexa’s number was programmed into her phone now, she never threw out the note. She told herself it was a nice memento of an important day in her life. That’s all.

* * *

Anya’s response to their silver was to kick training for the 2012 season into high gear. The short dance this year was a Rhumba, meaning that Clarke and Bellamy were back in the gym each morning learning a new style of dance to put into their skate. She was glad to be back with Monty and Harper so frequently, their calm, friendly ease making things feel lighter in the mornings. Still, she definitely didn’t adapt to Rhumba quite as well as she had to waltzing — it was different to any style of dancing or skating she’d ever needed to do before, with the exception of her one salsa class. It felt a lot more fun and energetic than waltzing though, so she didn’t mind the first few days of failure.

Their free dance would be to a piece called _The Swan_ from _The Carnival of the Animals_. It was lighter than their previous piece — something that Lexa and Tristan’s graceful ease could’ve excelled at, but Anya wanted to lean into the idea that Bellamy and Clarke’s strong, powerful skating could be perfectly choreographed to look light and dainty.

Having the full year to workshop the two pieces instead of only a few months meant that Bellamy and Clarke spent countless hours perfecting things. In April, Clarke could hardly make her feet follow the step pattern of the Rhumba in a dance studio. By May, the moves of the pattern dance were second nature and easily came to her on ice, even if there was still some clean-up work to do. Come August, the whole piece was put together and flowing across the ice.

The Swan came together similarly — though there wasn’t necessarily a love story with this piece the way there had been with Tristan and Isolde, Clarke and Bellamy were told under no uncertain circumstances to play up the romance. 

(She’d asked Bellamy if he wanted to draw inspiration from anything in particular for their own mental process of getting into character. He’d mentioned _Swan Lake_ being an easy fit, but even privately in her own brain it felt overplayed. When she asked if there were any good swan-based mythological stories, he’d just sort of grimaced.)

And now, in October with the competition season just around the corner, their pieces are sorted, beautiful and elegant and deadly, the way that Clarke wants to be remembered.

For all she might have liked getting a sweet note from Lexa, Clarke wants to beat her even more.

* * *

They fly through Nationals that year with an easy gold, which she tries not to be too smug about. She knows that their competition isn’t domestic, but the high scores they receive (higher than last year certainly) make her think that they stand a chance this year. There’s still time to fix things before Four Continents and Worlds, meaning they are genuine competition for gold.

She tries not to let herself hope too much, but she wants it.

Of course, success always comes with a little backlash. She’s surprised, really, that it had taken so long to get to this point. Her old rink loved to start petty drama wherever they could.

On their first day back in Portland to rehearse before Four Continents, things start to fall apart.

“I think we need to run the end of the free dance again, Anya. I’m not happy with the way we managed the exit of the last lift at Nationals and I want to make sure it’s smoother before we compete again.”

Anya nods at Bellamy. “That’s a good place to start. Your short dance scores were really good. I think that one won’t need to be changed too much going forward. But The Swan needs some tweaking, so we’ll focus on that.”

They run the last minute of the piece a few times, trying to figure out a better way to finish the lift so it fits better with the music and doesn’t feel so clunky. Clarke proposes a few ideas which she thinks will allow her to move in a more fluid manner fitting the soft, flowing nature of the piece. The first couple of attempts go poorly — so poorly in one case that Clarke nearly launches herself into the boards coming back onto the ice, at which point they have to take a break because she and Bellamy are laughing too hard to continue. 

Eventually actual work _does_ get accomplished though, and she thinks they’ve sorted the problem by fixing the way that Bellamy is rotating on the ice while he’s lifting her so that it moves better. They’re patting themselves on the back for solving the problem when _it_ happens.

Jasper and Maya are practicing on the ice at the same time and running a short segment of their own Rhumba routine, separating for a moment as their choreography dictates. She hasn’t been paying attention to them during the session — they always keep closer to one end of the rink while she and Bellamy use the other. It’s the easiest way to make sure that everyone can be working at the same time when they’re breaking their routines down into chunks anyway.

So everything is more or less normal until Jasper skates into her at full speed.

“ _Clarke?!_ Oh my god, are you okay?” Bellamy asks.

Of course, she’d had her back to Jasper when it had all happened, so now she’s more or less lying face-first on the ice. The only thing that hurts more than her knees and head is her pride.

“Why does this always happen to me?” She grumbles into the ice as she tries to move Jasper off of her back where he’d fallen.

Bellamy helps Jasper to stand and moves to help Clarke, but before she can go anywhere she notices one of Jasper’s coaches (the younger one — Cal or Cage or Cade or something) has run onto the ice. He sits by her head, helping her to sit up.

He cradles her face in his hands, moving it around as if checking for injuries. “Try to follow my finger, Clarke.” He moves so that one hand is in the air, drawing random designs which she tracks as best as she can with her eyes.

He shifts to help her up. “I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think you have a concussion. Probably just a nasty bump. Dr. Tsing would be able to say more than I could though.”

“Oh, I don’t see Dr. Tsing. Bellamy and I work with Nyko,” she says, confused about what exactly is happening. She has never even spoken with Jasper’s coach before, both teams being too wrapped up in their own work usually. If accommodations need to be made for ice space, Anya handles it.

“Nonsense, Clarke. Dr. Tsing can come here and see you; she’s nearby anyway as she was going to come this afternoon to give Jasper and Maya a routine check to make sure they aren’t overworking themselves.”

He begins to lead her off the ice, holding her arm to guide her as they go. Bellamy follows, looking as confused as she is.

“I can drive her to see Nyko, Cage. It isn’t an issue. It’s not like we can rehearse now anyway.”

Cage’s coaching partner, an older man who Clarke is pretty sure is also his father, calls over to them from outside the rink. “It’s okay, kids. I’ve already called Dr. Tsing and she’s on her way. She’ll just do a quick concussion test, and that way you’ll only need to see your doctor if she’s concerned with what she sees.”

Clarke steps off the ice, barely having time to slide her skate guards on before she’s being led to an empty room near the locker rooms.

Once she’s seated, Cage backs off, allowing Bellamy and Anya to check her over. Anya’s lips are pinched.

“What exactly happened? I didn’t even see.” Clarke says.

“Jasper must not have been paying attention and he skated too wide. Ran right into you.”

She squints at Bellamy. “You think it was an accident?”

He clenches his hand by his side. “You think it was on purpose?”

“I know he doesn’t like me, doesn’t like that we’re winning. Getting rid of us won’t make his scores any better at Four Continents, but at least he wouldn’t have to see us succeed instead of him. He strikes me as someone who is petty enough to _accidentally_ run down the competition.”

“Okay Nancy Kerrigan, he’s definitely _bitter_ , but we could never prove that he did it on purpose.”

“Of course not. You never really get proof of these things. Haven’t people messed with you before? Cut up your costumes before competitions? Stolen your skates?”

He looks alarmed. “Do people really do that to you?”

“No one’s ever cut my costumes before, but I’ve seen it happen to another girl. My skates used to go ‘missing’ all the time, though. We’d usually find them in another girl’s bag by ‘mistake’. Once they were in the dumpster behind the rink. If my mom could’ve locked my skates permanently onto my feet, I think she would’ve. It was a huge headache trying to keep people from messing with them.”

“ _Jesus_. You really don’t inspire many friendships, do you Princess?”

She laughs. “It’s not just me. I’m surprised you haven’t seen stuff like this before. Either ice dancing as a whole — with the exception of Jasper — is friendlier than the other disciplines, or you weren’t a big enough threat to warrant covert attacks in the past. But you should probably prepare for things to get worse in the next few seasons before the Olympics.”

He groans. “So you think people are going to start stealing my skates too?”

“Or they’ll cut up your pretty costume right before we perform the free dance and you’ll have to go on with both your nipples out.”

“That’s, like, the exact opposite of picturing the audience in their underwear. Now I’m going to have nightmares about having to do The Swan naked.”

She nods seriously. “Gotta give the people what they want, Bell. The fans demand it.”

He smirks and leans back, posing himself very intentionally so his arm muscles are on show. “I can’t decide if this is proof that your brain is or isn’t broken.”

“I’ve seen the sports side of Twitter — or at least the parts that Raven screenshots and sends to me. The people demand more Bellamy Blake. If Lexa cuts up your costume, she might actually be doing us a favor.”

He rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. “You should stay off Twitter, Princess. You’re definitely not ready for whatever cesspool exists there. Right, Anya?”

Anya, who has clearly decided that Clarke is fine enough not to worry over, doesn’t bother looking up from her phone. “I’m not part of whatever this is.”

Bellamy laughs delightedly, like Anya’s made an exceptionally funny joke.

“Why can’t I go on Twitter? It can’t be that bad, right? Raven said a lot of people are fans of us there.”

“Yeah, the fans are great, but you definitely shouldn’t search them out. They’re almost as bad in their fervor as Lexa’s fans are in their hatred for us.”

Anya looks up from her phone, finally cluing into the conversation. “Clarke, don’t go on the internet. We’ll never pull you out of the rabbit hole once you start looking.”

She crosses her arms. “Fine, but I’m not happy about it.”

Bellamy eyes her. “Of course you are — you love being a luddite. You still thought Myspace was cool until recently.”

“It wasn’t that recently! I don’t even know why I told you about that — that happened before we even started skating together.”

“It’s your own fault you talk about Raven so much. Myspace definitely came up because you were telling me a story about the two of you.”

“Unless we want to spend literally every moment of our time away from the rink talking to each other about _skating_ , we need other topics. I have Raven, you have Octavia. Otherwise we’d just keep talking circles around our worries about Worlds.”

“I really need to meet Raven. At least you’ve met Octavia a few times.”

“Maybe she can visit once the season is over, before we get too bogged down in next year’s stuff.”

“Sounds fun. Maybe she could even convince you to go a little wild. Maybe get a large pizza this time.”

Anya, who is clearly over them and has returned to texting, chimes in to say, “I’m contractually obligated to say no pizza.”

“Noted. Thanks, Anya.” He nods. “Maybe even an extra large, so we don’t need any side dishes. You could live on the edge, couldn’t you, Princess?”

“Shut up, Bellamy. This is why you’re the worst. At least I listen to Nyko and Anya.”

“I mostly listen. It’s not my fault that for your last birthday you ate a _yogurt_. I feel like people should celebrate 20 with a bit more fanfare.”

“I’ll celebrate Olympic gold with a bit more fanfare to make up for it.”

He looks like he’s about to come in with another rebuttal, but the door opens and Dr. Tsing walks in. Instead, he just mumbles, “You’d better.”

Dr. Tsing very politely kicks everyone out of the small room so that she can check Clarke out more thoroughly. They talk about Clarke’s previous head injury while she works, going through a series of tests to see if she needs further medical attention.

A few minutes later, Dr. Tsing says, “Everything looks okay. I don’t think you’ll have any issues competing at Four Continents in a few weeks, but I’d still recommend a day or two of rest just to make sure there’s no underlying issues. You’re already getting a pretty nice bump here, so you’ll want to ice that this evening.”

She nods, glad the ordeal is over. Dr. Tsing is nice in a polite, distant kind of way. She would’ve rather seen Nyko in the first place, but at least it’s dealt with now. “Thank you, Dr. Tsing. For coming out to see me so quickly.”

“Of course. I was coming to see Jasper and Maya anyway. I’m sure they’re very worried about you.”

She smiles tightly. “I’m sure. Anyway, I guess I should talk to Anya and Bellamy and then head home for the day.”

“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go find them for you? I doubt they’ve gone too far. And then you can head straight home.”

Clarke doesn’t see why she can’t find them herself, but since her knees still ache slightly from the fall, she nods once.

It doesn’t take long after Dr. Tsing exits the room for the door to open again, and she looks up, half a quip already on her tongue when she realizes it isn’t Bellamy. 

It’s Cage.

“Clarke, I’m so glad you weren’t seriously injured. It would’ve been a shame if you couldn’t compete in a few weeks.”

She keeps the coldly polite smile on her face. These are the interactions she’s more used to. It’s surprising it even took this long — over a full year — for the Portland rink to get catty.

“I’m sure Jasper’s wishing he’d hit me a bit harder now.” The fake laugh afterwards takes some of the bite out of her statement. Jokes like these are never _really_ jokes, but everyone pretends anyway.

“Oh, I’m sure he is. Frankly, Jasper’s a bit too jealous for my tastes. It’s my dad who loves working with him and Maya. I’m just along for the ride.”

She raises her eyebrows. She didn’t expect he’d be quite so candid about his trainee, whether or not he personally liked him.

“Oh?”

“Injuring you wouldn’t do him any good, even if he’s too blind to see it. But you, Clarke,” he steps closer. Closer than she’d like, really, considering the room is already quite small. “You have a gift. I think you’ll go on to do great things for American ice dancing.”

She laughs uncomfortably, trying to deflect. “Bellamy carries the team.”

He puts his hand on her thigh lightly, almost like it’s an accident and he hasn’t even noticed. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

His hand slides up, fingertips just brushing along the apex of her thighs. She stands abruptly. 

“I should go find Bellamy and Anya. If Dr. Tsing hasn’t sent them here yet, then she might not have crossed their paths before getting to Jasper and Maya.”

She stumbles out of the room as quickly as she can without looking like she’s running away. From behind her, she hears Cage’s smarmy voice saying, “Feel better, Clarke.”

She is only on the move for a few seconds before she runs smack into Bellamy’s chest in her haste to get away. Dr. Tsing must’ve sent them after all.

“Princess, you okay?” He asks, steadying her on her feet. She pulls back enough to see his face, his hands still on her shoulders to keep her balanced. “Dr. Tsing said you didn’t have a concussion?”

She swallows. “Uh, no. I’ve got the all-clear for competing. I just can’t skate for a day or two.”

Anya’s stress visibly leaves her body at the news. 

Bellamy is still eyeing her warily. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost if the news was good?”

She shakes her head a few times in an attempt to clear it, forgetting for a moment that, concussed on not, it still aches. “It’s just been a weird day.”

“Okay, I’ll walk you home then. I’ve got your stuff already.” He gestures to her training bag, set next to his where he’d dropped them during their collision. 

He shoulders both bags easily, using his free hand to guide her out of the complex by placing it gently against her back.

He must pick up on her unwillingness to talk about whatever’s bothering her. He jumps into an old story about Octavia trying to pairs skate as a child before they realized her many skills didn’t include anything on ice. Well, that and the fact that any attempt to make her hold her partner’s hand led to some choice hair pulling, which sent the poor boy’s mother running fairly quickly.

She laughs at the appropriate moments, glad to have Bellamy there to help her home. But her mind never stops thinking of an uncomfortably and unwelcomingly warm hand on her thigh. 

* * *

A few days later, she returns to skating. Everything is the same — everyone is stressed as Four Continents and Worlds loom ahead of them, Jasper glares at her for not being slightly more injured, and Cage doesn’t engage with her at all.

She starts to wonder if she’d made the whole thing up. Maybe there’s a stage just before concussion where you hallucinate a little too well. He’d never spoken to her before that day and has yet to try since, so there’s no real reason for him to have been so forward in their limited time spent in proximity.

Still, sometimes she thinks she sees him watching her out of the corner of her eye. Every time she looks over though, he’s always completely focused on something else.

* * *

They take silver in Colorado at Four Continents. She’s not happy about it necessarily, but their totals are so close to Lexa’s that it feels like they could make up the difference. They’re in spitting distance of gold and now they just need to figure out how to push themselves over the edge. 

Lexa congratulates them privately before they go out for the medals ceremony.

“You two were great. I haven’t been this worried going into Worlds since 2009.”

Clarke smiles, saying a quick _thanks_.

She’s surprised, though, at Bellamy’s reaction. “You didn’t win in 2009.”

Lexa eyes him, smiling confidently. “No, we took silver. It was close though. Managed gold just in time for the 2010 Olympics.”

He grunts. After two seasons of skating together, Clarke had started to think that Bellamy existed on a plane somewhere above all the pettiness of the skating world, but clearly he has the capacity for it when he wants to.

Clarke laughs, trying to diffuse any weirdness. She wants to beat Lexa in competition, but she doesn’t really want to start any kind of verbal feud if it’s not necessary. “Well, we’re coming for your gold. You should watch out.”

Lexa’s smile turns catlike. “Oh, believe me, I’ve had my eye on you the whole time, Clarke.” She pauses, letting the implication hang in the air before continuing, “I know competition when I see it.”

Clarke doesn’t really know what to say — she’s not used to anyone being so forward in their interests. With Finn, things had just sort of happened. This is new territory. 

Then Lexa looks over at Bellamy, as if remembering he’s part of their team. “And you were fine too, Blake.”

He looks as though he doesn’t know if he should laugh or be offended. “Yeah, thanks. You were completely adequate as well.”

“Glowing praise.”

“We’re both far too effusive. Should probably try to rein it in, really. This is almost embarrassing.”

She cracks a smile at that. “I’m really glad we can have these heart to hearts. Anyway, I should find Tristan before the ceremony starts. Congrats again.”

* * *

A few weeks after they return from Colorado, they fly to Paris for Worlds 2012. They hadn’t set a firm goal to get gold, knowing that this might not be their season, but they’d skated with the hope of ousting Lexa and Tristan from first place.

They’d upset the whole system on the first day by taking first place in the short dance, coming out a few points ahead of Lexa and setting a personal best.

Still, once the free dance was factored in the next day, they hadn’t quite managed to keep the lead. 

“Do you think silver is going to be our thing? Like always good but never quite good enough?” Clarke asks on the flight home.

“No, I don’t think so. Lexa and Tristan didn’t used to be at the top either. They only started dominating three seasons ago. We just need to figure out how to outscore them. It’s more math than artistry at this point.”

“Yeah but you’re a history nerd — math is hardly your strong suit.”

“I’m sure Anya has run the numbers. With two seasons under our belt and a better understanding of our strengths relative to the competitions’, she can probably work something out.” He laughs. “Or worst comes to worst, we call in Abby. I’m sure she’d love to go full skate mom again. She hardly ever gets the chance these days.”

“My mom is an absolute last resort. If we get her involved, there will be charts. So many charts. Seriously. The Youtube deep dive into past performances alone could kill her.”

“And there’s no way she’d do it remotely. She’d definitely move into your apartment and complain about our Friday night movie marathons because we should either be sleeping or thinking about skating.”

“We could watch _The Cutting Edge_ every Friday just so she knows we’re really dedicated to our art,” she says mock-seriously.

Bellamy gives her a displeased look. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Not a fan?”

“Not enough to watch it every week to prove my loyalty to figure skating.”

“Well then, I guess you just don’t take this as seriously as I do,” she laughs. “I’d force you to watch _The Cutting Edge_ a million times if it means we’ll win gold in 2014.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “You’re gonna force _me_ to watch it? Wow, Princess — what a sacrifice on your part.”

“I’d watch it with you obviously. All one million times.”

“Thanks,” he replies drily, but it’s obvious he’s trying to tamp down on a smile. She bumps her shoulder into his, a wide, stupid grin on her face.

* * *

Two days after they return home from Paris, she gets a text from Raven, containing only a series of photos of Clarke and Bellamy goofing off near the Eiffel Tower. Despite the fact that they travel fairly often for competitions, they rarely get the chance to actually enjoy the places they visit, so they’d made sure to spend a few days after the medals ceremony exploring the city together.

And sure, they’d taken lots of pictures of their visit — posing at the top of Notre Dame with the gargoyles (Bellamy’s favorite) and in little French bakeries where everyone was exceptionally rude to them (Clarke’s favorite). Her camera roll is filled with baguettes and boulevards and _Bellamy._

And they aren’t really famous enough to worry about attracting any kind of attention. Sometimes they’ll get stopped, but it’s infrequent and usually happens in Portland, since people who really care about the sport know they train there. But clearly someone in Paris had recognized them, managing to get a few nice shots of them walking towards the Eiffel Tower.

The best image of the bunch shows Clarke mostly facing away from the camera, turned only enough for the hint of a smile on her cheek and a bit of her nose to poke out from behind her hair. She’s grinning, pointing at the structure in front of them. She’s not even sure what she’s saying — maybe teasing about throwing him off the top if he’s too aggravating.

Bellamy is walking away from the camera too, but his face is in profile, clearly focused on her rather than their destination. He’s mid-laugh, a soft rosy blush sitting just beneath his freckles. Whatever it is she’s saying, whatever useless, empty barb is spilling from her lips, has captivated his full attention. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think he was a little bit enamored by her.

Clarke’s heart flutters in an unexpected way when she looks at the picture. There’s something so warm and intimate about it, despite the fact that it was taken by a fan and presumably posted to Twitter for all to see. It’s them in their bubble. Happy, authentic, excited. Even after just having lost to their rivals in international competition, they still look so full of life.

It reminds her, just for a moment, of years ago when she’d sat with her father on the couch and realized that she had no real friends. Nothing in those days had inspired her or provided the drive to improve. And now, despite all the upheaval in her life with no gold medal to show for it, she’s genuinely pleased with her life.

It’s a nice feeling upon reflection. She’d barely noticed the slow, steady growth of friendship as it was happening. Only looking back at the emptiness of her previous existence allows her to see just how much her life has improved.

She saves the photos.

Then, in a calculated attempt at a casual text, she sends them to Bellamy. _Look what our stalkers have caught,_ she writes. Nothing about how light she feels when she looks at the pictures, how much her life has improved since he’s become a regular part of it. It’s aggressively blasé. 

But she still smiles the next day when she sees that he’s set the best of the photos as his phone background. Because of course he did.

* * *

(And she doesn’t have time to process it until the season ends, really. But there’d been a weird amount of questions by the press at all of their competitions about their dating lives. She’d just laugh and say that she’s still single and happy, but the reporters always seemed vaguely disappointed by the answers. Like they were looking for something that she didn’t know how to give them.

They also always ask them to talk about their partnership and how close they are, which she’s much more effusive about. She and Bellamy had become more comfortable ribbing each other in press conferences and interviews, and the reporters always eat it up. They seem to like the energy between them — the funny, silly irreverence of their friendship. And sometimes they compliment each other too. Just because it’s the only time they’ve sworn they will.

Still, any experience with the press always leaves her feeling like she has more questions than answers about what they expect from her.)

* * *

Raven doesn’t manage to have time off to visit until early summer when Bellamy and Clarke are full swing into rehearsals for two new programs. By now though, on their third season and with a strong level of comfort between them, Anya is willing to give them some time off to show Raven around.

Clarke picks Raven up at the airport early in the morning. They’ve only met in person a few times, mostly when Clarke had a few days off and could visit Chicago. With Raven having less money at her disposal than Clarke and a busy schedule of college classes and her job as a mechanic, it had been impossible for her to visit Portland. Now though, having finished her degree and looking for jobs in something to do with computers (because, really, Clarke can never remember what _very smart thing_ Raven had actually studied), she can justify a visit to the west coast. After all, tech jobs and Starbucks are basically the only things holding the region together as far as Clarke is aware.

She runs up to Raven when she appears in the arrivals area. “Hey! You’re here!”

Raven smiles and gives her a hug before saying, “Alright, that’s enough for now. Trust me, you’re gonna want me to shower off the plane smell before we get too close.”

“Okay, okay. Did you check a bag?”

Raven nods, so they head over to the luggage carousel before heading out to Clarke’s car in the short term parking lot. 

Once Raven is firmly seated on the passenger side and rifling through her black hole of a purse to find her phone, she says, “So I have a few job interviews on Wednesday, but otherwise I’m yours for the week.”

“Perfect. Bellamy wants to hang out and we have a few days off, so you’ll finally be able to see him in a non-Facetime capacity.”

“Can’t wait. I’m gonna get all the Bellamy dirt for my wildly successful Bellarke News twitter account.”

“Every time you mention that, I become less convinced that you’re joking.”

“Well the good news is that you’re basically social media-phobic, so you’ll never know.”

“If NBC starts talking about that time I accidentally almost flashed everyone my left tit while visiting that big metallic bean in Chicago, I’ll know you were the leak.”

“Okay, that whole story is blacklisted and I can respect that. Even though the boob thing wasn’t even the best part.”

Clarke shoves Raven without taking her eyes off the highway in front of her.

“So what are the jobs you’re interviewing for? Think it’s likely you’ll stay here in Portland?”

“I’m not sure about Portland, but I have a few phone interviews with places in Seattle and Silicon Valley too. And a few back home in Chicago. Your dad has actually recommended places for me to apply and has been helping me as a reference. Apparently he has connections to basically everyone in tech which probably shouldn’t surprise me.”

Clarke’s eyebrows fly up on her forehead in surprise. “Do you _text_ my dad?”

“Yeah, we talk about you behind your back a lot. Mainly nice things when we’re watching your competitions, but we definitely make fun of you too.”

“Gee, thanks. I love that you and my dad talk smack about me.”

“It’s not my fault your dad is so much funnier than you, Griffin. Sometimes your mom joins in, too. We have a group chat.”

“Oh my god. You’re kidding.”

“I’m really, really not.”

“I hate you all.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. You can talk smack about me to, like, Bellamy or Anya or whoever. Not really sure what you’d say though. I don’t provide much ammunition on account of how awesome I am.” She flicks her ponytail.

“What do you guys say about me? Purely for inspiration so that I can make fun of you in return.”

“I’d let you read the group chat, but frankly, it’s sacrosanct. I have to protect it’s integrity at all costs.”

“Naturally.”

She starts counting on her fingers. “Mostly we make fun of you and Bellamy in the interviews you have to give. Sometimes I send them funny gifs of you two during performances, but I send most of those to you as well. I should probably start turning some of your performance expressions into memes. And we make bets.”

“Bets? Like if we’ll win gold or silver in competitions or be Olympians or whatever?”

“Nah, we don’t tend to bet on your scores. Plus if we did that, the person who bets that you _won’t_ win Olympic gold would be an asshole. We are 100% behind Team Bellarke.”

“So what do you bet on then?”

Raven just looks at her cryptically. “Other things.”

Clarke nods sagely. “Yes, that definitely clears things up.”

Raven just laughs, turning the radio up so they can listen to Maroon 5 sing about a payphone.

* * *

They meet Bellamy in the city after Raven’s had time to clean up at Clarke’s. He’s sitting in a coffee shop — _not_ a Starbucks, thanks — with his phone out when they arrive.

He smiles up at them when he notices they’re there. “Hey, Raven.”

“Bellini. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Bellini?”

“Yep. Or Taco Bell.” Bellamy grimaces. “Dumbbell? Bellboy? Bella Swan? Bell bottoms? Belly button? Smelly Belly? I could go all day, Bellini.”

“How long have you been crafting this list?”

“Every time Clarke mentions you, I check to see if it’s an embarrassing story in any capacity. Once I’m sure it isn’t, I usually check out and start adding to the list.”

“Hey!” Clarke says. “Everything I say is interesting and, as my friend, you’re contractually obligated to pretend to care.”

“Will do. I actually made the list when I got bored sitting in classes that I probably should’ve been teaching instead of taking.”

Bellamy laughs. “Humble as ever, Reyes. I’m glad you aren’t any different outside of Facetime. You guys want a coffee?”

They grab drinks before heading out into the city. Despite living just outside Portland for 2 years now, Clarke never explores the touristy areas. Bellamy is a bit more familiar with things, having spent most of his childhood in public school despite his commitment to skating (he’d only started doing online schooling in the last few years of high school), so he’s been all over the city on bad field trips and the like. Plus, Octavia likes to make him act like he has a life outside of the rink every now and then.

They spend the next few days visiting all the dorky places Bellamy wants to take them — the Oregon Historical Society Museum, the Pittock Mansion (where they take pictures posing like snooty rich people), and the Portland Art Museum (where Bellamy and Raven proceed to tell Clarke that she’s better than all the artists, even though she likes all the exhibits they see). Along the way, they find a few fun pit stops, like the outdoor arts and crafts market and a pizza place where they make good on the promise to have an extra large pizza. Bellamy even sends a picture of it to Anya.

On Wednesday, Raven spends a full day running between job interviews. She hadn’t even been nervous about them the night before, joking that they’d either see her for the gift she would be to their companies or it would be their loss.

Bellamy decides to spend the rare day off from both training and sightseeing by hanging out with Octavia, so Clarke uses the time to catch up on laundry and grocery shopping before they all meet up in the evening. They wanted to celebrate Raven’s interviews (for better or worse), so they’d decided to go to a bar when she finishes.

Clarke is folding freshly dried athletic-wear to put in her drawers when she gets the text from Raven.

 **From: Raven —** Between interviews atm. Wear that short black dress I noticed in your closet to the bar tonight.

 **From: Raven —** An order, not a suggestion.

Clarke rolls her eyes, texting back a cursory “Aye, aye, Captain.” It was really unfortunate that Clarke, a stubborn enough person on her own, had chosen to be friends with Raven and Bellamy, the only two people who could potentially out-stubborn her. She misses the days when she ran things. Still, she finds the dress in her closet and lays it out. It’s not like she has a lot of opportunities to get dressed up in nice outfits that aren’t also made of lycra or acrylic.

* * *

She meets Raven at the bar which, as it turns out, isn’t a bar at all. Raven doesn’t seem surprised to see that Grounders is a club, loud music playing while people dance under flashing lights. A freshly 21 year old Clarke has, naturally, never been to a club, but she’s _also_ never been to a house party or anything that is supposed to warm a person up to this type of place.

Still, if she’s going to be here for the next several hours, she might as well have fun.

Raven pushes her way to the front of the crowd standing at the bar, ordering them two double vodka cranberries. “We don’t want to have to go back to the bar too frequently if we don’t have to. Better to get shitfaced quickly.”

“Oh, great. Exactly how I thought tonight would go.”

“Hey, you look hot as hell in that dress; don’t let it go to waste. We’re gonna dance and let off steam. I graduated. You’re going to the Olympics in a year and a half. We’re young and gorgeous. Time to put it all to good use.” She takes a big swig of her drink, leading Clarke into the throng of partiers.

She’s glad that the DJ is playing remixes of familiar pop songs rather than music she’s completely unfamiliar with — something P!nk is playing, and at least she can pretend to know the words as she and Raven dance along.

Once her first drink is finished, she finds she’s loose enough to be enjoying herself, jokingly grinding up against Raven while a few guys look on jealously. Raven laughs loudly, playing with Clarke’s hair as they dance to tease them further.

She barely notices her phone buzzing in her pocket with all the commotion around them. When she pulls it out, she sees that Bellamy has texted her, saying he and a friend from high school are just around the block. Clarke texts back to meet her by the bar, nudging Raven in that direction. 

They beat the guys to the bar, so she shoots Bellamy a quick text asking for their drink orders. Easier to only need to get the bartender's attention once. 

When she’s placed the orders for four drinks, they lean against the bar while Clarke taps her fingers to the beat. When she looks back up, Bellamy is there, quickly followed by a squirrely-looking guy she’s never seen before. Bellamy leans in between Raven and Clarke’s heads, loudly saying, “Hey, this is my friend Murphy. He’s the worst — you’re gonna love him.”

Clarke just smiles, nodding at Murphy as their drinks arrive. She passes them out in just enough time for Raven to grab her free hand to drag her back out to the dance floor. Clarke looks back at the guys, trying to gesture for them to follow.

After the second drink (also a double, purely for efficiency), things are a little hazier. Not so much to be worrying — Clarke does drink _occasionally_ , so she isn’t a complete novice — but enough to not be so stuck in her own head. Between the flashing lights, the pulsing beat of the music, and the warmth of dozens of bodies in close proximity, she feels a lot lighter than she normally does. A little bit separated from reality, like she can be something else, something outside herself for just one night.

At some point, the guys get refills, but she isn’t really sure when it happened. She’s only sure that they’re definitely drunker than they were a few songs ago.

She and Raven dance together again, laughing when I Kissed A Girl comes on. Murphy’s eyes light up a little bit too much at the sight, but it’s all in good fun. A few songs later, the DJ throws it back with a classic ABBA song, which Murphy enjoys even more than the Katy Perry, and Clarke throws her head back with laughter as she watches him trying effusively to sing along. She makes eye contact with Bellamy as he smiles at his friend’s antics.

She and Murphy dance together when the song switches into something she doesn’t know, and despite how close they’re pressed together, it feels silly and fun rather than sexual. If there’s one thing she clocked immediately, it’s that he’s been looking at Raven a _lot_ more than any other girl in the club, so she knows it’s safe to dance with him in the meantime. She even tries to tease him about it, though it’s hard to talk when it’s almost impossible to hear anything over the music. Still, he rolls his eyes and laughs, so she’s pretty sure the message was received. She smirks and then tugs on his hand in a circle over his head, making him twirl around a few times before he’s laughing too hard to continue.

And it’s ridiculously fun, really, to spend the night being stupid. Raven smacks a big kiss on her cheek while they dance, and she just smiles before shoving a slightly off balance Murphy in her direction. Then she winks at Raven.

She looks over at Bellamy, smiling at him as she closes the distance between them. With Raven and Murphy seeming … _preoccupied_ , she figures she’ll spend some quality time with him.

She leans in, saying, “They’re gonna have to thank me later.” But he just shakes his head in confusion, tugging on her hand to pull her closer so he can hear better. With her lips next to his ear as he bends down, she repeats herself. She can’t actually hear the laugh he gives in response, but she’s pressed close enough to him that she can feel it in the vibrations of his chest. 

“Okay, Cupid, leave the matchmaking to the professionals.” The heavily remixed intro of the next song moves into the more familiar strains of something both popular and decidedly Taylor Swift, and Bellamy laughs again. “Trouble, just like you.” Then he puts his free hand on her waist, quirking an eyebrow in invitation. She just smiles in return, letting him move them along to the bass-enhanced beat.

And it’s nice.

Too nice, maybe, for what her sober mind would want to analyze.

But she’s feeling free enough tonight to let herself enjoy what feels good.

And so she doesn’t pull away during the next song. Or the song after that.

Actually, she doesn’t really pull away properly until they’re finding a cab to crowd into, all four of them choosing to crash in her tiny apartment. 

And when Raven’s body curls around her on her bed that night, the boys out in the living room fast asleep, she smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes before you go:
> 
> Sorry, as usual, for the delay. I seem to be incapable of writing shorter chapters, and at this point it would feel weird imo to have a significantly shorter chapter. I'm not sure if people would prefer shorter, more frequent updates, but that's something I could consider in future.
> 
> When Clarke asks Bellamy if there are any mythological stories about swans and he grimaces, it's because he's thinking about [Leda and the Swan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leda_and_the_Swan) which is a VERY rapey story about Zeus.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing the club scene — so much fun, in fact, that I ended up down the Spotify rabbit hole of popular pop music from 2007-2012. Clubs are way more fun when they're playing songs I actually know, so this club was having pop night. Taylor Swift's "I Knew You Were Trouble" is the song playing when Bellamy calls Clarke trouble. Also, this chapter was written pre-Folklore, but clearly I was manifesting.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter today, but that’s because the next one will (if I’ve laid things out correctly) be the Olympics, so it’ll be it’s own beast.
> 
> I’ve had a few comments about the timeline of the story and how much time has passed, so I’m gonna do a quick summary here if you’re at all confused. It gets especially confusing because they rehearse in one year and then compete in the first months of the next year, but hopefully this makes things clearer from the last few chapters.
> 
> mid 2009 - early 2010: Clarke is injured skating with Finn. Bellamy takes bronze at the Olympics.
> 
> mid 2010 - early 2011: Nia convinces her to skate with Bellamy. They go through Anya’s various attempts to increase their chemistry. Program: Golden Waltz SD and Tristan and Isolde FD. They win silver, and Lexa hits on Clarke.
> 
> mid 2011 - early 2012: They skate their second season together, now firmly friends. The "Jasper Incident" occurs. Program: Rhumba SD and The Swan FD. They take silver again.
> 
> mid 2012: Raven visits. Clarke and Bellamy have officially been friends for 2 years (skating together from summer 2010 to summer 2012).
> 
> This chapter starts up again in Summer 2012 and will finish in early 2013 with a [Yankee Polka short dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBjRshTZv9Y) and a [sexy, energetic free dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIIM6FowjPQ). By the end of this chapter, Bellamy is 23 and Clarke is 21.
> 
> And next chapter will be mid 2013 - Winter Olympics 2014.

Bellamy and Clarke have a skating-related obligation to attend to on the last full day of Raven’s visit, but she’s happy to go along with them. She’d already accompanied them to the rink once for an unmandated practice during their week off, claiming she wanted to see ‘the heat in action’, whatever that meant. They’d run their new free dance program for her, but she’d been most excited to see their old hits, so they’d obliged and performed  _ Tristan and Isolde  _ and  _ The Swan _ for her since they were her favorites. 

Anyway, the moral is that she was happy to go along with them on skating business, enjoying a look into their world, so they travelled together to one of the NBC affiliate buildings.

Clarke isn’t exactly sure what they’re meant to be doing today — NBC had contacted Anya a few weeks prior to ask about Bellamy and Clarke being involved in some kind of ad for the 2012 Summer Olympics. The idea was to have Olympians and world champions from winter sports come in and wish Team USA good luck in London, but if more information than that had been given to Anya, she hadn’t felt the need to pass it along.

They spend the hour with a quiet cameraman and one of the NBC staff members who covers the winter olympics and figure skating specifically, Charmaine Diyoza. She’s seen Diyoza over the years at various events, so she’s a familiar face, though Clarke’s never really managed to get a read on the woman.

She does most of the talking, the cameraman clearly happy to let her take the lead, even though she’s not an artistic director by any means. Clarke’s fairly certain she’s just the loudest voice in the room and so no one questions her; it’s fine though, because there are probably a lot of people with far worse ideas than Diyoza. 

She has them wear their windbreakers with the giant red, white, and blue “USA” on the front just in case anyone was likely to forget. Once they have some stage makeup on and their hair tamed, they’re placed in front of a white background with big lights and a camera pointed directly at them. For all the interviews she’s done and how often she’s on tv, Clarke doesn’t actually do it in studio spaces very often, so the feeling is alien.

They do a few takes of Bellamy and Clarke wishing Team USA luck from the US figure skaters. Once Diyoza is happy with the variety of voice inflections she’s managed to squeak out of them, she wants to get some B-roll footage for the video that can be interspersed throughout to make it look more ‘fun’.

“Uh… what were you thinking exactly?” Clarke asks, head tilted slightly.

“Yeah, Clarke really struggles with ‘fun’ as a directive, so we’re gonna need more than that.”

Clarke elbows Bellamy while Diyoza looks like she’s trying to keep herself from both rolling her eyes and smiling at them.

Diyoza leads them through a series of staged merry-making. They’re told to look at each other and laugh ( _ but not like that, seriously. You’re not laughing at each other!).  _ They get to throw red, white, and blue confetti and look at it like it’s the coolest thing on earth as it falls down around them  _ (ideally you wouldn’t throw it directly in each other’s faces!).  _ They have Bellamy give Clarke a piggyback ride while she sets off a small confetti hand-cannon, which she enjoys because a lot of it ends up in his hair.

He turns his head to peer up at her with a look of mock scorn, but she just smiles back and brushes some of the sparkly pieces off his head innocently. He can’t quite hold in a laugh, his eyes big and warm as he takes her in.

“Okay, that’s great,” Diyoza says, actually sounding genuine this time rather than exasperated. “We’ve definitely got what we need.”

Bellamy looks away, setting Clarke down quickly. Clarke suddenly feels awkward which really doesn’t make any sense. She spends about 30% of any given training day wrapped around him or staring into his eyes like a lover, so she’s not sure why an interrupted piggyback is making her hands feel sweaty, but…

She takes the opportunity to talk with Diyoza about who else will be involved in the project, but she can’t help but notice that Bellamy has managed to slink away and is next to where Raven’s been watching the filming. Raven says something to him quietly and Bellamy’s face goes red.

Clarke doesn’t even hear what Diyoza says to her, too consumed for just a moment with the need to know why Bellamy is embarrassed.

She tunes back into her conversation. “Well, hopefully you’ll be able to supercut whatever you got from us into something usable.” She laughs but it’s stilted.

“Oh trust me, we will.” Diyoza smirks.

They all say their goodbyes before heading back out into the streets of Portland so they can get to Clarke’s car.

“Well, that was fun. How the other half lives and all that.” Raven says.

“I don’t think  _ figure skaters _ are what people mean when they say the other half, Rae.”

“It is for me. I somehow have acquired a skater ex-boyfriend and  _ two _ skater friends. I don’t even know how that happened, but it’s definitely the weird other half of my life. Especially weird since I can barely stay upright on skates.”

“Didn’t you skate with Collins at some point?” Bellamy asks.

“Yeah, when I was five and a lot less breakable. Baby fat exists for a reason, Bellini. Now if I tried I’d definitely leave in an ambulance.”

“I knew it wasn’t possible for you to actually be good at everything. We’ve finally found your weakness.” Clarke laughs. At Raven’s scowl, she adds, “I won’t use it against you too much. Unless we get into a fight and you’re trying to murder me or something. Then I’m skating out to the center of a rink where you can never touch me.”

“Well, obviously. Because if we fought for real, I’d win.”

Clarke wants to be offended, but it’s probably true. Raven’s scrappy.

* * *

Bellamy joins them on the early morning drive to the airport the next day in order to see Raven off. They follow her through the check in process, saying goodbye just before the security gate.

“You’ll call me if you hear from the jobs, right? Even if it’s the ones in the other cities.”

“Of course. You’ll be the first to know, except for maybe Sinclair. And your parents, obviously. They definitely have dibs. So, like, fourth to know. Still good overall.”

Clarke laughs, rolling her eyes. “Thanks. Have a safe flight and text me when you land.” She pulls Raven into a hug.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you, Griffin. I’ll text you and the Griffin Group Chat when I’m back safe in Chicago.”

“Tell them I say hi.”

“Will do.” She turns to Bellamy. “Thanks for the guided tour of Portland, Bellini. It was fun. I definitely don’t remember any of it.”

He smiles. “I figured. Hopefully we still kept you entertained, enough to come visit again at least.” He pauses, before hastily adding, “Oh, and Murphy wanted me to give you his number. It was supposed to be some dramatic high school shit with it written on a scrap of notebook paper or whatever, but I forgot, so can I just text you his contact information and you can use it or ignore it at your leisure?”

Raven’s smirking with a twinkle in her eyes. “Sure, that sounds fun.”

“Just try not to break his heart too badly.”

“What makes you think I’d do that?”

He squints at her knowingly. “Besides the fact that you couldn’t even manage to finish that question without looking like an apex predator spotting her kill?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Don’t worry, I’ll play nice. Mostly.”

“Your level of self-confidence is actually frightening.”

She smirks. “I could lend you some, you know. Just… in case you needed any. For any reason. Or a specific reason.”

Clarke isn’t sure what she’s hinting at, but Bellamy clearly knows because his cheeks go a little red again.

When she looks at Bellamy with a raised brow, he quickly says, “No, thanks, I’m good.” Raven just laughs.

“Well, I should be off then. See you both sometime, and make sure you text me that number, Bellini.” She does a finger gun before tugging her carry on bag along to the security line.

They watch her snake through the line before getting to the TSA agent at the front. “That was weird, right?” Clarke asks without looking away from the line.

Bellamy clears his throat, then softly says, “Yeah. Super weird.”

The drive back to the rink for a mid-day rehearsal is quiet.

* * *

A few months later, they’re preparing to go to their third Nationals competition as a team, this time with a Yankee Polka short dance (which was a lot more fun than Clarke had been expecting) and a new free dance. Anya had chosen to do a medley of upbeat, fun songs instead of the slower, romantic pieces they’d done in the past. They don’t bother to tell a story beyond  _ these two skaters are meant to look ridiculously attracted to each other _ , but by now they also don’t need concrete characters to understand their roles. It’s a passionate performance with lots of sexy undertones. It might’ve made Clarke blush to perform if she didn’t feel like she was someone else for those four minutes. Someone who could be convincingly flirty and enticing and bold.

She likes performing that song a lot.

It’s also their most technically difficult piece yet, highlighting their strong skating and expert footwork. Anya is certain that they can game the system with a piece like this, just as Bellamy had mentioned when they’d flown home from last year’s Worlds.

Their autumn rehearsals are busy and tiring and long, but there’s also a wonderful level of complete comfort, slipping into the warmth of familiarity. She knows this routine, she knows how to play the part, and, most importantly, she knows  _ Bellamy. _ The way he skates, the way he elongates movements to match the music just right, the way he looks into her eyes as they skate together. Passionately, deeply, lovingly. 

And for the first time since moving to Portland, she’s sure. Absolutely sure that they have a chance at gold. They might not win — might be bested by whatever Lexa and Tristan come up with. But she knows they have an edge this year, reaching a level of their skating that would be hard to beat, even for the reigning champions. 

The feeling, like a zinging electricity beneath her skin, makes her smile.

* * *

They’re walking around the city on an afternoon off, wearing warm jackets and thick scarves now that the November chill has set in. They aren’t far off from the familiar cycle of Nationals, Four Continents, Worlds, but there is an underlying current of excitement that exceeds most years. This is the last season before the Olympics, so everyone is keeping a keen eye on who the winners will be.

And she and Bellamy really,  _ really _ want it.

But it’s their day off, so they’ve sworn it’ll be a regular afternoon in the city getting coffees and fucking around like tourists getting lost. They don’t have real plans, enjoying the rare opportunity to wander aimlessly.

“You should’ve brought Octavia. We could’ve done some really obnoxious window shopping.”

Bellamy laughs. “Octavia’s officially decided that hanging out with her older brother on the weekends isn’t cool enough anymore. I think she had plans with friends anyway.”

“Aw, sixteen year olds are so hard to please.” She smiles teasingly. “Maybe, like all old things, you’ll end up being vintage-cool one day.”

He elbows her. “Thanks, Princess. You really know how to make a guy feel special.” He takes a drink of his coffee before adding, “Weren’t you already internationally ranked in singles and pairs by sixteen?”

She does some counting backwards in her head, trying to remember which year was which medal. Honestly, her whole life is a blur of the same cycle of competitions, so almost nothing is distinctive about it. But she knows her mother used to boast about  _ something _ she did at age sixteen, so it must’ve been good.

“Yeah, first in singles and fifth on my first season in pairs. But I also had no friends at all, so probably Octavia is still beating me at being a functional person.”

He snorts in amusement, throwing his arm around her shoulders. After so many years of skating together — and so many years after that disastrous first attempt to watch a film together — she’s comfortable with his touch. Welcomes it, even. It’s nice to be friends with someone who is so casually tactile. It takes away the pressure to act first when she’s feeling deprived of human interaction. She smiles up at him playfully.

“Octavia and pretty much everyone else on earth. Sorry, Princess, but I’m not convinced you have friends other than me and Raven. Murphy maybe, if you’re feeling especially magnanimous. But since Raven relocated to Seattle instead of Portland, you’re basically stuck with just me.”

“Oh, poor me. I’m so deprived having to spend all my time with just you. I consider our friendship my act of charity to the world,” she teases, poking his side.

“Fuck off, you know I’m the only friend worth having.”

“No, no, you said it. I’m basically stuck with you until I find my forever-friend.” He tugs her hair lightly in retaliation. “But you can keep the title for now if you want it.”

He smiles. “I want it.”

She doesn’t have the chance to formulate a response before they’re being interrupted by a younger girl accompanied by her mother, clearly out shopping with bags in their hands.

“You’re Bellamy and Clarke,” she says bluntly, foregoing the standard  _ hello. _

But she can only maybe be 12 or 13, and Bellamy has always had a soft spot for kids, so of course he says, “Yep, that’s us! And you are?”

“I’m Charlotte.”

“She’s your biggest fan,” her mother adds with a little laugh, clearly used to humoring her daughter about these things.

“Awesome,” Bellamy says, the warmth in his voice both genuine and overwhelming. “Do you skate too?”

Charlotte laughs as though the thought truly delights her. “No. I would always be on my butt if I tried.”

Clarke smiles in return. “That’s a lot of what we did at first, too.”

“When you skated together as little kids in Michigan?”

“Yeah. You must watch a lot of our press conferences.”

Charlotte’s mother pats her shoulder lovingly. “ _ All  _ of your press conferences. Seriously. All of them. Our Youtube algorithm is basically just your faces at this point.”

Charlotte elbows her mother none-too-subtly.

Bellamy nods seriously, saying, “Of course our biggest fan will have seen our interviews. Makes perfect sense to me.”

“You’ll have to remind me if I’ve said anything particularly good in them,” Clarke adds. “I almost never remember my responses basically as soon as they leave my mouth.”

“Do you want to get a picture, Charlotte?” Bellamy asks.

She nods, and they pose on either side of her, bending slightly to fit into the shot better.

“I’m going to take a few in case anyone blinks,” Charlotte’s mother says, aiming the camera in their direction.

A few seconds pass as they hold their pose. Then, apropos of nothing, Charlotte pipes up from between them, “Are you dating?”

And Clarke is certain — absolutely  _ certain —  _ that Charlotte’s mother must have captured on camera the exact look that crossed her face at the question.

She schools her expression as quickly as possible, turning to look at Bellamy for a second before saying, “No, we’re best friends though.”

Charlotte looks like she doesn’t really believe them, like maybe they’re hiding a covert relationship despite the fact that very few people presumably care if they’re together. “Hm,” she says, tone flat. “Are you sure?”

Bellamy nearly chokes. “Pretty sure.” Charlotte’s mother suddenly looks like she doesn’t know if she should be laughing or embarrassed at her daughter’s line of questioning.

She glances between them again, distinctly disappointed by this answer. “You should try dating. Everyone thinks you are already anyway.”

Clarke isn’t sure who  _ everyone _ is, but she just says, “Thanks for the tip.”

Charlotte’s mother ushers her away after they say a quick goodbye. As soon as they’ve turned a corner, Clarke lets out a little disbelieving laugh.

“Guess we’re convincing as lovers at least,” she says.

“Small consolation, I suppose, for having a twelve year old try to hook us up.”

“Maybe we just seem desperate to her? Like do we look like we need to be getting laid? Getting laid  _ separately, _ obviously.”

“Obviously,” he parrots. “Uh, maybe? I’m not sure what that looks like exactly, especially to a kid. And anyways, I do get laid.”

“Aw, are you back on your one night stand bullshit?” She asks with a playful nudge.

“Sometimes, yeah. I feel like we’re too busy for anything else.”

“Good for you. Maybe I just look like I need to get laid then, and it’s somehow projecting all over you.”

“Truly my nightmare. Keep your sad girl desperation to yourself,” he teases.

“At least now our biggest fan can truly set the record straight. Tell our story, Charlotte.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon in a bakerie, snacking to an inadvisable degree and laughing as the sun sinks low in the winter sky. 

When they return the next morning for another long day of rehearsals, the warmth in her stomach from their day off is still present. 

* * *

In January, after Nationals have concluded and they’re only a few weeks away from travelling again for the major international competitions, she gets a surprise text from Lexa.

**From: Lexa — Hey Clarke. In Portland for the weekend on business. Coffee?**

Considering it’s been nearly 2 years since Lexa had first slipped Clarke the note expressing interest, she hasn’t actually been holding onto any expectation that they’d eventually get together. Still, she doesn’t see the harm in getting a coffee, even if it’s with the competition.

**From: Clarke — Yeah, I have some free time. Just tell me when and where.**

They meet up later that afternoon at a Starbucks — which was  _ not _ Lexa’s first choice, she makes known, but just happened to be the closest to where she’d had a meeting earlier in the day.

When Clarke walks in, Lexa is already at a table, two coffees steaming in their to-go cups while she idly taps around on her phone.

“Hey,” she says, dropping her bag on the ground and taking a seat. “I hope I’m not late.”

“No, you’re not,” Lexa smiles. “I’m just compulsively early to things. It’s a hard habit to break after so many years — you know what growing up with a Crazy Skate Mom is like.”

Clarke laughs before taking a sip of her drink. Starbucks or not, it’s nice to come into a warm building on a dreary January day to a waiting coffee.

They chat for the next two hours, talking about growing up in families with obsessive skating legacies and at what moment they’d realized that this would actually be a career for them. For all that Lexa might be the star of Canada’s winter olympic dreams, she’s surprisingly down to earth about it all.

“I love skating, don’t get me wrong. I’m not sure who I’d be if I wasn’t doing this. But it’s a job, you know? People act like if I don’t have a shrine to Torvill and Dean in my closet then I must not be dedicated enough.”

“I’m sure you’re plenty dedicated already. No one accidentally wins an Olympic gold medal.”

Lexa smirks into her drink. “No, definitely not. Just because I don’t have voodoo dolls of the other teams doesn’t mean I’m not still competitive as hell.”

“No voodoo dolls?” she asks with a laugh. “Not even of me? Ice dance must be soft compared to the other disciplines. I’ve had actually hexes cast on me before, so you’re gonna need to step it up.”

“Mm,” she hums, pausing to think. “Do you have any ideas in mind?”

“I told Bellamy you might try to cut up his costume before Worlds. But from your perspective that might not be a great tactic, because I’m sure people would love to see more of Bellamy filmed in high definition.”

“I’ll need to come up with something a little less on the nose, I suspect. But give it time — I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually.”

And then Lexa smiles and winks. Which definitely  _ doesn’t _ make Clarke’s stomach do a somersault. 

When afternoon shifts decidedly into evening and they start feeling bad for loitering for so long without buying another drink, Lexa asks if Clarke wants to grab dinner.

She does, and they do. And it’s nice — simple, in the way that some people just slot easily into your life like they were always there. Maybe because of the shared experiences of being skaters, but probably more because of their equally sarcastic and acerbic takes on the sport as a whole.

They’re walking out of the little Italian restaurant and onto the dark Portland street when Lexa reaches for Clarke’s arm and tugs her into a kiss.

“Sorry,” she says when she pulls away, keeping a hand on Clarke’s cheek. “I’ve been waiting to do that all day. And for the last two years.”

Clarke’s lips, still tingling, quirk up into a pleased smile. “I hope it lived up to anticipation, then.”

“I’m not sure. I think you should let me try aga—”

Clarke presses her lips to Lexa’s before she can even finish the sentence, getting as close as she can with their bulky jackets between them. She winds her fingers into Lexa’s hair as she deepens the kiss, suddenly  _ hungry  _ in a way that she hasn’t felt in a long time.

When she finally pulls away to take in a breath of cold winter air, she asks, “So what’s the verdict?”

Lexa leans in to gently place a kiss on Clarke’s red nose, cold from spending so much time out on the sidewalk. “The jury says you should come back to my hotel with me tonight.”

A warmth spreads inside her at the words. She takes Lexa’s hand in hers, tugging lightly as she says, “Then lead the way.”

* * *

They spend as much of the weekend together as possible, reveling in the glow that comes from good conversation and good sex, but Lexa still had obligations in the city and Clarke still had her own rehearsals, so their time was limited. Still, when Lexa packs her things into her car after checking out from the hotel room, she presses a warm kiss to Clarke’s lips.

“I know it’s not convenient to do this when we live in different cities. But the drive isn’t so bad, and we’ll see each other at competitions. I’d like to keep seeing you, if that’s okay.”

Clarke pokes her cheek playfully. “You want to be my girlfriend?”

“So much.”

Clarke looks down and smiles. “Okay. Text me when you get home?”

“Of course. And we’ll work out a schedule for seeing each other.”

They part ways after another kiss, and Clarke can’t help but feel giddy at the thought.

It’s probably stupid to date her competition. Something is bound to go wrong — press finding out and turning it into a whole thing, the stress of being work rivals getting to them,  _ something. _ But for the moment, it’s good. So good. Warm and happy, like a soft place to land.

And that’s all she can ask for, really.

* * *

To say that Bellamy is  _ unenthusiastic _ about her new relationship would be an understatement, but she couldn’t really bring herself to keep it from him. They’ll keep it from everyone else, of course, not wanting to have every skating fan with a slight imagination writing weird porn about them on tumblr, but it wouldn’t feel right to hide it from Bellamy. 

He’s her partner and her best friend. Lexa might come and go, but Bellamy will hopefully be with her for a long time. So she made it clear early on in her calls with Lexa that his knowing was non-negotiable.

And obviously she’d prepared herself for him to be displeased by the idea. Lexa and Tristan have been his competition for years, even before the Vancouver Olympics. Sportscasters have pitted him against the Canadians for basically his entire career. And now, with a Sochi gold medal easily in reach for both teams, it’s easy to see why he wouldn’t be thrilled by this turn of events.

So yeah, she’d anticipated that he wouldn’t be a huge fan of the idea, but she really underestimated just how  _ angry _ the whole situation would make him.

“You’re kidding,” he says, a firm, no-nonsense tone to his voice.

“I’m not, no. We’re really dating.”

“And you’re telling me that this coincidentally happened right before we go to Four Continents and Worlds after receiving our personal best score at US Nationals?”

“I’m telling you that it happened last weekend, which does coincidentally fit into that time period. I don’t appreciate the implication that you think she’s doing this to mess with me.”

“Aren’t you the one who told me that all skaters are petty, malicious people that you can’t trust not to steal your skates?”

“ _ Yes,  _ but that was about the Jaspers and the Josies of the world, not about Lexa. You know firsthand that a lot of the skaters aren’t evil considering you’d literally never even given it thought until I mentioned it to you!”

“But you don’t think the timing is even a little bit suspicious?”

“If she waited to ask me out in August or something, you’d say she was trying to sabotage the Olympics!”

“Okay.”

“What?” She asks, suddenly confused by the abrupt shift.

“Okay. You’re right. I’m not being fair about this. Who you date is your decision, and I trust that you’re being smart about exactly what dating the competition entails.”

“I am. I swear. If I fuck this up, it’ll be totally on me. I won’t let it affect Worlds. I really want gold too.”

“I know. I’m sorry — I shouldn’t have freaked out. Maybe I’m seeing more enemies than friends since the Jasper incident.”

She nods, accepting his apology, even if the whole thing really sucked. He’s her best friend though, so it’s not like she’s going to ice him out for one overreaction. 

“I guess I’ve finally turned you into the pessimist that you were always capable of being.”

“Excuse you, I’ve always been a pessimist.”

She smiles. “No, you really are a hopeless optimist. You just have a grumpy exterior. It’s not the same thing as being a born cynic.”

He rolls his eyes. “Consider me converted then.”

They don’t talk about Lexa again for the rest of the day.

And if they hardly ever bring her up after that… well, that’s fine too.

* * *

At the start of February, they travel to Osaka for Four Continents, and Clarke knows for the first time that they really, really have a shot at gold. And sure, it might suck to win if it means beating her girlfriend, but they’d already discussed it. Nothing that happened at the competitions would be taken personally, because this was their job. Someone had to win, and unless they messed things up monumentally, it would be one of their teams. There was no point in making the whole situation awkward when they’d always known this was their reality.

So she’s pretty psyched when they come in first place during the short dance. They’d done the same last year and lost the lead, but she’s so sure that their free skate is something special this time that it’s hard not to feel hopeful.

Maybe Bellamy’s optimism was rubbing off on her more than she’d realized. 

They’d drawn lots as always to see which order they would skate their programs in, and Lexa and Tristan had come up two before them. She doesn’t manage to catch their whole performance, too nervous as she works through last minute jitters, but she did get to wish her luck before they’d had to split up for their own warmups.

“You’re not usually this stressed,” Bellamy says, giving her a wary look as she hops around in place to let out some excess energy.

“I’ve never felt so certain that we can do it.”

“We  _ can  _ do it. We’re going to beat them. Their routine this year isn’t as strong as some of the others they’ve done, and our technical scores are bound to give us an advantage this time.”

“I know, I know. I just want it so badly.”

“Me too,” he says, putting his hand on her arm and looking her dead in the eye. It’s oddly centering, and she stops her hopping to focus in on him. “And we’re going to get it. I’m sure.”

She smiles softly. Her life is so much better for having Bellamy Blake in it. 

“I’m sure too.”

* * *

When they finish their free dance a few minutes later, panting heavily and hugging with the elation of a near-perfect skate, she feels certain they’ve done it. 

They do their bows, smiling and waving at the cheering audiences before skating off to sit with Anya and wait for their scores. The camera is right on their faces waiting to hear the news, and she whispers encouraging little things to try to stop her racing heart. 

As the score is announced, she reaches out quickly, one hand grasping Anya’s to her right and the other holding Bellamy’s on her left. And that’s the exact way she’s sitting when she learns they’ve managed gold for their first time as a pair.

She doesn’t cry when she hears the news, and she doesn’t cry when they receive their medals — there’s something about being at this level that makes people think they need to be above all that.

But when they get back to their hotel room that evening, heads spinning from so many congratulatory messages and a long but thrilling press conference, she cries harder than she ever has before. The sobs struggle to come out as anything but gasps that shake her whole body as she tries to breathe through them. Fat tears fall down her cheeks and soak into Bellamy’s shirt where she’s pressed her face into his shoulder.

It’s not from sadness, of course. It’s a deep, overwhelming sense of relief.

Bellamy squeezes her back in a tight hug and she knows he’s experiencing the same outpouring of emotions that she is. It feels like the first day of sunshine after an endless winter.

Not that any of their second place seasons had been a true hardship. But it’s endlessly gratifying to know they really  _ could  _ do it, could win against the greatest competitors in the world. 

It’s her first gold since before the accident. It’s his first gold at all on the international level.

The best part is knowing that they can do it again.

* * *

And they do. When they go to Worlds a few weeks later, this time only having to go as far as Ontario to compete, they manage to win gold again. It’s just as satisfying the second time.

Standing next to Bellamy on the first place podium, medals around their necks and an American flag hanging behind them, is the greatest feeling in the world. Better than any of the gold medals she’d won as a singles skater. And worlds better than any of the non-gold medals she’d won with Finn.

She feels a sense of accomplishment in her skating that she hasn’t experienced since she was a child first being told by Nia that she was going to compete at the highest level against world renowned skaters.

Lexa and Tristan are standing to their right, wearing silver medals for the second time this season. Their fans had been pissed to see them lose at Four Continents, so corners of the internet are probably in an uproar right now. But Lexa the Girlfriend seemed genuinely proud of Clarke’s accomplishments, even if Lexa the Skater was smarting at her own defeat.

Clarke understands of course — it’s a strange dynamic to be caught in. She’ll give Lexa a few extra orgasms tonight to help them both get over the weirdness.

It finally feels like she can have it all. Her parents, Raven, Lexa, Bellamy, her career, and gold.

With their third season concluded, the next thing ahead is the Olympics. They have less than a year to ensure that everything about their 2014 performance is perfect. Because she knows, deep down to the core of her being, that they’re going to win. There’s no other option.

She waves to the cheering audience again as pictures are taken, and Bellamy looks over at her and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nervous and excited to go to the Olympics next chapter, so hopefully you are all ready for that. Naturally there's going to be some drama involved.
> 
> You may have noticed that I've tenatively set this story at 8 chapters, so we're not quite at the end yet. I think 8 is the absolute max, though it might be wrapped up in 7 if things work smoothly for me (and Bellamy and Clarke!)
> 
> Lastly, I have a new oneshot up (a [graveyard meet-ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812061) that was fun to write). I'm also getting ready to start publishing a Grounder!Bellamy story based around a Greek myth. It is going to include a totally different style of Grounder religion and belief, so no Lexa, but I've been having a lot of fun writing it. If you want to see that as soon as it's posted, please subscribe to me as an author so you get notified!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet. It's over three times the length of the last chapter and about 4,000 words longer than the previous record-holder for this story (which was chapter 1). So buckle up, because it's time for the Olympics!
> 
> If you haven't been watching the videos I post with each update, I HIGHLY recommend doing it this time. The performances I've chosen for the Olympic season are some of my favorites, and while I try to write about the feeling of skating, it's impossible to really describe the routines themselves, so you just need to see them in action.
> 
> Watch their [short dance to I Could've Danced All Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBDG8mAjQLk&list=PLzYZlC5XSd7KcCR26bbY6UM-R9OrcwShy&index=5), [free dance to Notre Dame de Paris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHM_Nx_vgBQ&list=PLzYZlC5XSd7KcCR26bbY6UM-R9OrcwShy&index=4), and [gala performance to Stay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXdNKcMU_5Y&t=208s).
> 
> Also, just to note, I'm incredibly nervous to post this chapter. It's the height of the action and tension, and I've been agonizing over trying to get it right. Please, please let me know if you like it.

Clarke considers that spring and summer to be some of the happiest days of her life.

She and Bellamy can’t help but ride the high of their gold medals, returning to Portland full of energy and excitement about the upcoming Olympic season.

“This will be our fourth year together,” Clarke says one afternoon in April. Today’s plan is to meet with Anya to discuss the direction of their free skate performance — what songs they might use, costumes, and the overall direction they want to take the piece in — and it feels _real_ now in a way that it hadn’t before. She’d been ready in an unbothered sort of way to go to the Olympics in 2010. She hadn’t felt passionate about what she did, but she was still hellbent on winning gold while doing it.

Only none of that was to be, and she’d missed Vancouver entirely. But this time it feels right, pieces effortlessly falling into place exactly where they belong. Whatever they do, they’re sure to make American ice dancing history, but a gold medal is entirely on the table at this point.

“I know, Clarke,” Bellamy says with a smile. “I can count, too. Four loooooooong seasons stuck with you—”

“Hey!”

“—being the best ice dancers in the country and also the world. Those medals prove it.”

“And we’re going to do it again.”

“Of course we are. Can’t let Lexa and Tristan have all the Olympic golds.”

She smiles gratefully. There is no one on earth she’d rather share these moments with than him.

“I’m glad it was you.”

“Glad what was me?”

“When Nia said she could find me an ice dancing partner and came back fifteen minutes later with an offer, I probably should’ve been concerned. It could’ve been anyone, really. But it wasn’t. I’m glad it was you.”

His answering smile is warm as it blooms across his face. “Could’ve been Jasper, and what a disaster that would’ve been,” he jokes. “Have you ever thanked Gina for getting injured?”

“It’s probably not the height of polite conversation to thank someone for getting injured so you could sweep in, steal her partner, and rise to first place with him.”

He smirks. “Why? I thank Finn every day for sending a skate through your foot.”

She flicks his cheek. “I can’t tell if that’s really nice or really rude. I have _trauma_ from that, Bellamy. I still can’t do pairs throws.”

“Well then it’s a good thing you aren’t a pairs skater, isn’t it?” He asks, flicking her in return. “But if we _were_ pairs skating, I bet you’d let me do those crazy throws with you anyway.”

“Probably now, but it would’ve been an uphill battle to do that in our first season together. I’ll stick with our much more reasonable ice dancing lifts, thanks.”

“We’re pretty good at those, aren’t we?”

“Better be. If you’re not up to scratch, I’ll ditch you for the Olympics. Jasper might be willing to do a trade.”

He presses his hand against his chest in mock offense. “God, Clarke, I can’t believe you’d dump me like this. Not when I’m your ticket to gold.”

“If you prove that you really are my ticket to gold, I’ll keep you.”

“Oh, good. Well, there isn’t any ice here,” he says, gesturing around the cafe they’re waiting in, “but I can do some interpretive dance to prove my talents if that works?” He starts to push himself out of his seat, smiling like a schoolboy.

“Stop! Stop. You’re hired. Don’t you dare embarrass me in this coffee shop. We’ll end up with some weird article written about us if you do.”

“Perfect. I appreciate your consideration and prompt response.”

Anya walks into the cafe just as he’s settling himself again.

“Whatever antics you’re up to, stop. We have to discuss the season.”

“Don’t worry, we were just wrapping up our antics anyway,” Bellamy says cheekily. “We’re ready to be serious now.”

Anya eyes him warily before glancing at Clarke.

Clarke nods solemnly. “Very serious.”

“So we have a few options for songs and shows,” Anya says, pulling out her folder of extensive notes. Inside are song lists, drawings of potential costumes, and all manner of stray thoughts she’s had about how to turn them into Olympic gold medalists. “I’ve been keeping all the best ideas tucked away for this season.”

They spend the afternoon drinking coffees and pouring over Anya’s work. They listen to the song options, helpfully preloaded on a playlist, and she paints the picture of where they might cut parts or reorchestrate or combine things into a medley. It’s no different than any other season — they go through a similar routine each year as they prepare their programs, and she’s been doing it since she first started competing as a child under Nia’s tutelage. But it’s bigger now — it means _more._ This is their shot, and they all know it. 

It takes a while to choose — having to really take time to envision the different options before them — but they finally settle on their short dance to _I Could’ve Danced All Night,_ which will keep them light and quick on their feet, perfect for their strong synchronization skills, and a medley from _Notre Dame de Paris_ for their free dance.

“Star-crossed lovers again? We’re returning to our roots, Princess,” Bellamy jokes. 

“Tristan and Isolde was a real gamble,” Anya says. “I didn’t know if I could trust Clarke’s face not to ruin it.”

Bellamy’s laugh is so loud that a family sitting at a nearby table stops their conversation to look over at them in annoyed shock.

“Ouch.”

“But you figured it out by Worlds. And I can definitely trust your face now. You can pull off Quasimodo and Esmeralda for four and a half minutes.”

“Your confidence in my acting is, as always, astounding. How could I possibly let you down with such sweet words to help me through?”

“Oh,” Anya says, a little shock showing through her normally unruffled voice. “I don’t have a lot of confidence in your acting skills. You’re just good at being in love with Bellamy.”

Bellamy laughs again, patting Clarke on the shoulder consolingly.

“Not you too, Anya,” Clarke groans. “The whole internet is convinced we’re madly in love. Apparently at some point we actually had a secret baby together and we’re keeping it hidden away so no one catches on to our torrid love affair.”

“You’ve seen the youtube conspiracy videos too?” Bellamy asks in a light voice. “I thought I told you to stay off the internet.”

“Raven sent that one to me. She said it was the funniest, but that I shouldn’t go looking for the others.”

“Very sensible. What time do we have to be home to feed Horatio?”

“Horatio? You couldn’t even give our fake child a good name?”

“Well we needed to give him his own identity. But his middle names are for the two most important men in his life.”

“Oh?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. “So what’s his full name then?”

“Horatio Jasper Finn Griffin-Blake, obviously.”

“Bit of a mouthful.”

“He’s a baby — he doesn’t care.”

“Incredibly sound logic. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“Alright, if we’ve got the programs sorted, I’m going to go. Watching you two is always exhausting,” Anya says, packing up her notes again. “On the ice tomorrow bright and early. We’ll start choreography.”

Clarke smiles at their coach. “Thanks, Anya. We’ll be on our best behavior tomorrow.”

* * *

The most fun part of the summer, besides all the time she gets to spend with Bellamy, is when they manage to get a weekend off. She and Murphy decided early on that, as they both have girlfriends living in Seattle, they might as well make the trips to Washington together.

The drive isn’t actually long — it only takes three hours if the traffic isn’t terrible — but they enjoy the chance to make embarrassing roadtrip spotify playlists and talk about their weekend plans.

When Clarke is in Seattle, she tries to make time to see Raven too, but it doesn’t always work out, which is fine for them. Raven wants to see Murphy and Clarke wants to see Lexa, so they don’t always manage to make it fit into the short span of time.

Lexa doesn’t come as often to Portland for visits, but she usually makes the trip once a month if she has time. When she does, Lexa is insistent that they spend as much time in Clarke’s little apartment as possible. 

“I’ve seen Portland a million times,” she’d said when they’d discussed it. “If we only have the weekend together, I’d rather spend my time seeing you.”

It had made Clarke smile — Clarke always smiled with Lexa. She was intense in her affections, and it was easy to be swept away in it all. Being in Lexa’s inner circle was a bit like being in the eye of a hurricane. Every summer day Clarke spent with her was movie-perfect, a world of its own in the middle of their very busy lives.

“And how’s that going? I never hear about Lexa,” Bellamy says one day after rehearsal. She and Murphy had driven back to Portland late the night before, and she’d turned up to practice this morning with her stomach sloshing with as much coffee as she could drink.

“It’s good. I’m really happy with her, and we’ve been together for six months now, so things are feeling a little more settled.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows pinch together. “And you guys are still completely cool with competing against each other at the Olympics? I feel like that must be at least a little bit awkward.”

She shrugs. “Lexa didn’t mind when I won last season. It’s part of the job. One of us is going to win, and that’s just how it has to be. We don’t talk about our programs really, out of mutual respect. I wouldn’t want her thinking I’m trying to steal ideas from them.”

“We don’t need to steal ideas. Our routines are coming together perfectly.”

She smiles. “I know. I’m glad Anya saved these ideas for this season. It’s definitely our best work yet.”

“Then I hope Lexa has practiced her gracious loser face. She’ll need to use it twice as often, what with the very obvious cameras during work hours and the secret, gold-medal-winning girlfriend being around afterwards.”

Clarke laughs and elbows him. “Leave trash-talking my girlfriend to me.”

* * *

Lexa visits for the first time in several weeks during a cold spell in October, and Clarke forces her out on Saturday, citing her need to see a bit of sunlight while she can.

“But I just want to spend the day cuddled up in bed with you,” Lexa says, tugging on her arm with a smile. She’d dressed and donned her coat obligingly, but not without reminding Clarke where they _could be,_ if only Clarke wasn’t so adamant that they spend time outside.

“We can do that this evening. I won’t keep you out for the whole day.”

“But that’s the reason cold days exist, Clarke. To stay in bed and watch bad films and pretend you don’t have actual responsibilities.”

Clarke huffs a laugh. “I can’t even pretend not to have responsibilities. That headspace doesn’t exist for me. I’m surprised you manage; we’re both far too Type A for that.”

“I’m never relaxed unless I’m with you, and then I just want to spend all my time doing nothing.”

“Maybe we can take time off after the Olympics. Have a month or two to rest. There’s no pressure to jump into the next season for either of our teams.”

Lexa hums, thinking it over. “Maybe. We’ll have to see, I guess. And make it through Sochi first.”

“Well you’ve already done this once before. You can give me all the hot Olympics tips. Like _don’t go to the parties the men’s hockey teams throw_ or _hit the gym in the early morning for maximum people watching.”_

“An unequivocal yes to both of those,” Lexa says. “Last time I found the games room and ended up playing Dance Dance Revolution against Sidney Crosby. I’m a little too gay to have been appropriately excited about that, but apparently other people think it was exciting.”

“Oh my god, seriously? I don’t even like hockey and I know that’s really cool. Who won?”

“I did, obviously,” Lexa says with a smirk.

Clarke smiles back. “Coolest girlfriend ever.”

They stop for lunch at a diner that Bellamy and Clarke go to on occasion, enjoying good food and good conversation tucked safely inside from the cold.

Lexa laughs when their plates have been cleared away. “You must’ve been hungry.”

“It’s been the longest week,” Clarke says with a little groan at the memory of rehearsals. “I’ve earned some comfort food.”

“How are things going with your dietician?”

Clarke cocks her head to the side in confusion. “How do you mean? Things are going the same as they always have. It’s not like I’m close personal friends with him.”

“I was just curious. Our sport is so demanding on the body, and I’ve noticed you eat more junk than you used to.”

“More junk?” Clarke asks, a confused laugh escaping her. “I never eat junk. I’d never stop seeing my mom’s glare in my head if I even tried.”

“What are you talking about? You eat junk all the time. You and Bellamy had a pizza party last week.”

“It wasn’t a _pizza party_ — we’re not eight year olds celebrating our birthdays. We just had movie night. Also I’m still not sure what your point is.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to start a fight or anything. I just know how serious you are about the Olympics, and I don’t want something stupid like _movie night pizza_ setting you back. If I’m going to beat you, I want it to be for a better reason than that.” Her eyes twinkle playfully.

“Oh,” Clarke says, feeling suddenly worse than before. She starts thinking back at all the meals she’s had in the last week, trying to find instances that might prove Lexa’s point.

After all, she isn’t the girl who ate a _yogurt_ to celebrate her birthday anymore. For her twenty-second birthday, Bellamy had bought her a dozen red velvet cupcakes, lighting candles in each for her to blow out, and it was the happiest little celebration of her birth that she could ever remember having.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says uncertainly. “I haven’t been as careful as I usually am. My doctor hasn’t mentioned anything, but maybe I should monitor it better.”

Lexa squeezes her hand. “Whatever you think is best, Clarke. You know I love you. This wasn’t meant to be a slight on you, I was just thinking about your health. This sport is so taxing.”

“I know. I love you too.”

* * *

“On a scale of one to ten, how hard are you going to cry when we win gold?” Bellamy asks one day as they’re panting heavily after a run through their free dance. _Notre Dame de Paris_ had shaped itself into their most beautiful, emotionally evocative program yet.

“I’ll cry at a ten because this sport has dominated my life for as long as I can remember and winning will send me into the good kind of breakdown. A cathartic cry that will usher in an era of profound spiritual peace. And my mom will hit a twenty because she’s even more worried about this than we are.”

“Is Abby coming to Russia?” He asks, suddenly worried.

“Of course she is. Don’t look so stressed though; you know she loves you. She thinks you’re the only thing that is saving her chance at me getting a gold.”

“I _am_ the reason you’re getting gold. Not that you couldn’t do it without me, but you did refuse to do any sport that isn’t ice dance, so…”

“Well then her reasons for liking you are well-founded. How hard will you cry?”

“No clue. I’m excited to find out though,” he says, sounding pretty genuine in his desire to have a breakdown at the Olympics.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bellamy in full waterworks mode. Now we have to win just for that.”

“I’ll probably cry if we lose, too.”

“We’re not going to lose, though, so you’ll have to settle for crying with joy.”

“Crying with joy sounds pretty nice. I could probably handle that.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Okay,” Anya shouts, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Get a drink and then set up from the music change into _Danse mon Esmeralda._ We need to run the ending again and fix the hiccups.”

* * *

“How was rehearsal?” Clarke asks that evening over facetime.

“It was fine. Tristan was complaining about the crazy scheduling again, but things are so down to the wire that we can’t waste time. And really, it’s not like he hasn’t survived an Olympic season before. He’s trying my patience though. How was your day?”

“Good! Good. Bellamy and I are finalizing things on the free dance, so it’s starting to look complete. We might tweak things after Nationals but we’re hoping it’s more or less ready.”

“That’s great to hear. You still won’t tell me what it is?”

“I’ll tell when you do,” Clarke teases. “Although I suppose it hardly matters now; no one is crazy enough to change their whole program two months out from the Olympics. That would be suicide.”

“True. Is Anya still predicting good things for Team USA?”

“Yeah, she’s feeling pretty confident this time around! Not that she wasn’t proud of Bellamy’s bronze in 2010, but obviously we’re way more prepared this go around. So you’d better keep Tristan at practice, because she’s definitely optimistic for us.”

“Oh, I’m sure she is,” Lexa says, tone just slightly too biting to be playful.

“Why do you say that?” Clarke asks, immediately feeling defensive.

“Look, I didn’t want to say anything about this…”

“Okay, then don’t. You know our relationship has pretty strict boundaries regarding work talk.”

“You know one of the Olympic judges is Anya’s friend, right?”

“No? Why on earth would I know that? I don’t keep up with who the judges are.”

“You should. You know questionable judgments are made all the time at the Olympics. Think about Salt Lake City in ‘02. There’s no way to guarantee that judges are impartial.”

“And you’re accusing Anya of rigging the votes in our favor?” Clarke asks, wanting Lexa to say what she means if that’s truly what she’s implying.

“I don’t know, but it is suspicious.”

“So if you win, it’ll be completely on your own merit, but if I win, it’s because we cheated?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. If you win, I _want_ for it to be on your own merit. You deserve a gold medal that you fought for.”

“We _are_ fighting for it. We’ve been fighting for the last four seasons. The judges at last year’s Worlds gave us gold based on our skills. I don’t see why this would be any different.”

“This is bigger than that. The whole world will be watching us in Sochi, Clarke.”

“Then the whole world will be there to scrutinize the judging practices,” she retorts angrily. Then, after a deep breath, she says calmly, “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. Anya is our coach, and she has been for four years now — and longer than that for Bellamy. She isn’t going anywhere. If her friend is a judge, there isn’t anything I can do to change that. I know you don’t want to lose — I don’t want to either. But you have to respect me as your girlfriend and your competitor enough to recognize that I might win. And if I do, it’ll be because I’ve _earned_ it.”

Lexa sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry — I shouldn’t have brought any of this up. Of course I respect you. I’m just too in my head about the games.”

Clarke smiles, but it doesn’t fully mask the turmoil she’s feeling. “I understand. This is all so stressful. Let’s talk about something else, yeah?”

And she doesn’t want to be angry about it — she _isn’t_ angry about it. Subjective sports have always been hard to judge, and controversies have come about in the past. It’s not unreasonable to be thinking along those lines, even if it’s a little early to be calling favoritism. 

But it does keep her up that night, wondering if their potential win will even mean anything if they can’t be sure that they will deserve it.

* * *

Clarke and Bellamy celebrate New Years Eve in Boston, popping a bottle of champagne in their shitty hotel room with the TV playing coverage from Times Square in the background.

“Three… two… one… Happy New Year!” Clarke says along with the television hosts. 

“2014,” Bellamy says in awe. “We’re winning Olympic gold _this year.”_

“We’re winning Olympic gold in just over a month and a half,” she corrects.

“I can’t believe we’re really here.”

“Not quite yet — we’ve gotta get through Nationals first in a few days.” She throws some confetti in his hair as she talks, and he brushes it away without comment, smiling all the while.

“Yeah, but… four years,” he says. “We’ve been waiting to get to this point together for four years now.”

“Longest four years of your life, I think you said.”

“And the best four years.”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “That too.”

He presses a warm kiss to her forehead. “Happy new year, Clarke.”

She puts her arms around his neck and buries her nose in his shoulder as he moves to hug her in return.

“Happy new year.”

* * *

A few days later, they skate their programs for the first time in competition at US Nationals. Her parents had flown to Boston the day prior, not wanting to miss their only performance prior to the Olympics.

Their short dance is perfect — energetic, light, and quick. The tempo is fun and keeps them moving, the skirt of her costume billowing out as they glide effortlessly through quick turns and twizzles. 

_Notre Dame de Paris_ is dark and beautiful, a haunting, gothic love story that allows them such depth of performance. She can feel the heaviness of her character each time she performs it — the fear and horror of her world. It’s a strange, intimate headspace to be in, but she finds comfort in understanding the role.

Their scores for both are absurdly high, and she feels the smile sitting on her face the entire day after they’ve been handed their gold medals again. Sure, the competition at Nationals is never their real concern, but it’s a relief to see their years of hard work translating into scores so impressive that they’ve never even considered them a possibility before.

“You were amazing, sweetie,” her dad says when they find each other after the ceremony.

“You’re going to win an Olympic gold medal!” Her mother exclaims, near tears at the thought.

She laughs at the sight. Four years ago, the pressure of her mother’s need for gold was crushing her. She just didn’t care about what she was doing, and the only intrinsic motivator was her desire to beat other people. She hardly cared about the sport itself or her routines or making anyone proud — she just didn’t want to lose.

Now though, she feels a heavy sense of pride in her work. What they have is _good,_ and they’ll deserve gold if they win it. The weight of expectations at the Olympics could easily crush a person, but she feels confident for once. Whatever they do, they’ll do it together.

“I hope so,” she says, hugging her parents, gold medal crushed between them. “I think we really figured out the perfect program this time.”

“I’m so proud, honey. You’re both going to be amazing.” Abby’s eyes twinkle with unshed tears, but then she instantly transitions to logical skate mom. “Have you considered changing the footwork you do during the transition from the first to the second song? And the ending pose — how committed to that are you, because I really think—”

Abby continues on, rattling off her laundry list of ideas, while Clarke smiles at Bellamy knowingly. He just laughs, hand gripping the edges of his medal. 

In a month, they’ll be holding a much more impressive gold medal. She’s sure of it.

* * *

A few days after returning from Nationals, Lexa drops down to Portland for a surprise visit.

“You say I never make the drive,” she jokes affectionately. “So I came to see you and say congratulations.”

“What for?” Clarke asks, already pulling her in the apartment and towards her bedroom.

“For winning at Nationals, obviously.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “We win there every year. We aren’t concerned about our American competitors,” she says, eyeing Lexa with playful suspicion.

“Okay, then I’ll congratulate you on a really well-performed program. We’re fucked for the Olympics.”

“You aren’t.” She tips Lexa’s chin up for a gentle kiss. “I’ve seen your routines now too, so I know we’re evenly matched.”

“I hope. Canada has a reputation to uphold. Being the defending champions is hard.”

“Everyone loves you. We’re the hated rivals coming to steal the gold they’ve already decided is yours.”

Lexa laughs. “Not at all. You two have fans all over the place. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot of US flags at the rink in Sochi, and most of them won’t be carried by Americans.”

“You think?” Clarke asks skeptically. “Everyone has always loved you and Tristan.”

“Our chemistry isn’t as compelling, and for a lot of people, that is the beginning and the end of what they care about when watching figure skating.” She pauses, then quickly adds, “Not to demean your skating, of course, because that’s problematically strong too, at least from our point of view. But the internet loves you, and that’s not something you earn from technique alone.”

“I’m sure there will be loads of Canadian flags too,” she says, tapping Lexa’s nose. “I wish you would’ve told me you were coming — our anniversary isn’t until next week anyhow. Plus, I’m technically on call for rehearsals this weekend.”

“On call?” Lexa asks. “Don’t you have your rehearsals scheduled in advance? Why would you be on call?”

“Anya said we could take the weekend off, knowing that our performance is pretty solidified. But Bellamy is convinced that there’s something missing, and he’s sure he can figure it out with enough time to make the changes. So if he figures it out this weekend, I’ve promised him that I’ll go in to workshop it. He’s really committed to making sure this is perfect.”

“Okay,” Lexa says easily. “Then we can spend the weekend together, and if he calls I’ll hand you over for a few hours. Like you said, our one year anniversary is next week, so we deserve some time together.”

She leans in for a kiss which Clarke is happy to give.

“Sounds perfect.”

* * *

That night, naked and warm under her comforter, they start making jokes about their early years as figure skaters. Lexa admits freely that she felt disgusted having to pretend to like Tristan in their more passionate performances, especially as a young teen. They’d been skating together since childhood, but that didn’t mean she wanted to do _anything_ even remotely romantic with a boy at 15 (or, as it turned out, ever). Clarke tells her about her early years singles, skating to embarrassingly pretentious pieces of music to seem like a serious contender.

They end up playing through youtube videos of old performances, laughing at the bad stage makeup their moms were insistent upon and the ridiculous routines they were made to do.

“Your skates are bigger than your head!” Lexa says, laughing at 13-year-old Clarke’s beanpole legs sending her into a lutz.

“You’re one to talk. I’ve seen your ‘04 Junior Worlds performance!”

They watch through the earliest embarrassments, eventually moving into the more recent years. She sees (for the hundredth time) Lexa’s gold-winning 2010 performance in Vancouver, and Clarke looks at her with such affection when she says, “You really are the best in the world. That performance will be remembered for such a long time.”

Lexa runs a hand through Clarke’s hair. “It really was the best two weeks of my life. But I hope that that performance isn’t my whole legacy — there’s still time for me to eclipse it.”

Clarke, free from any malice at her competition, says sincerely, “I really hope you do. You’ve worked so hard.”

They continue on, watching through Clarke’s early seasons with Bellamy, reminiscing on Lexa’s attempt to hit on Clarke at their first Worlds together where she and Bellamy had beat out the other Canadian team for silver. Eventually, they make it to their respective National competitions from this season.

“This medley is gorgeous. I wish we’d thought of it,” Lexa says as they watch through _Notre Dame de Paris._

“It’s a great piece. And it’s unrequited love, so Bellamy’s stuck being the enamored one for the whole performance.”

“I doubt it’s a hardship.”

“It’s not,” Clarke says teasingly. “I’m terribly easy to love. I have a string of suitors that follow me around from dawn til dusk, but don’t worry. I like you best.”

Lexa rolls her eyes before kissing Clarke’s bare shoulder.

“I love the opening sequence. It fits so well with the music. I don’t know about this lift though,” she says as the lift in question appears in the video.

“Hm? What’s wrong with it? We didn’t lose any points for the element.”

“Oh, I didn’t think you would have, at least not at Nationals. But it’s a bit awkward, and the exit from the move doesn’t look clean. Plus, it isn’t helping you any with your artistic scores.”

“You really think so? It felt good on the ice.”

Lexa shrugs. “It’s just my opinion, and I’m hardly the only person worth listening to. But I’d consider changing that if I were you. This year isn’t the time to be keeping bad lifts.”

“I don’t think it’s bad,” Clarke says, watching as she and Bellamy skate their way through the final movement of the piece, the music becoming more powerful as their desperation visibly grows.

“Okay. It’s your call. I love this ending pose. Very emotive.”

* * *

The next day, they spend a lazy morning in bed before heading out to lunch.

“After this, I’m going to take you to the huge Powell’s Books in the city. Apparently they have over four million books in there!” Clarke says, reading the information from her phone screen.

“Have you ever been?”

“No, but I don’t know how I’ve managed to avoid it. I’m gonna leave with a whole stack.”

“Avid reader?” Lexa asks, confusion lacing her voice. “I feel like I never see you with a book.”

Clarke hums. “I haven’t been really. But I also had a pretty subpar homeschooling experience, so I’d like to make up for it. Plus Bellamy reads all the time and I’m starting to feel like I need to keep up.”

“Okay. I’ll help you carry home your huge stack.”

Clarke smiles at Lexa fondly, and they finish up at the restaurant before heading off to find the bookstore. 

Clarke finds eight books she wants to buy, one book that she convinces Lexa to get for herself, and three for Bellamy that she can’t pass up. One of them, fittingly, is Victor Hugo’s _Notre Dame de Paris._

They don’t make it back to Clarke’s apartment complex until six that evening, and she notices as they’re parking the car that one of the others in the lot is familiar.

“Oh, it looks like Bellamy is here,” she says, getting out of the car and towing her big bag of books along with her. She leads Lexa into the building, unlocking doors as they go. “I wonder why he didn’t call first.”

The elevator arrives before Lexa can say anything, and they travel up to her floor quickly. Clarke chatters aimlessly about the books she has, and which ones she’s hoping to read before the Olympics come around in a few weeks.

“Clarke,” says a voice as they step off the elevator. Bellamy is sitting outside her door, phone in hand.

“Hey, Bellamy. I didn’t realize you were coming over.”

“I didn’t realize you weren’t showing up for rehearsal,” he replies with irritation. “Considering that was meant to be… oh, five hours ago.”

“What? We didn’t have rehearsal today. Why didn’t you call?”

Bellamy glances over to Lexa who suddenly looks awkward to be witnessing a spat in the hallway.

“Well that’s weird,” he says, eyes never leaving Lexa’s face. “Because I called you around noon to ask you to come to the rink. I realized what we need to change and wanted to test it out. Lexa answered your phone and said she’d pass along the message.”

“Lexa?” Clarke asks. “You didn’t tell me Bellamy called.”

“Why don’t we go inside and discuss this?” Lexa says, completely level headed in her response.

“Lexa,” Clarke repeats. “Why didn’t you tell me Bellamy called?”

“I forgot. We were at lunch, and I answered when you used the restroom. By the time you came back, we were so focused on the bookstore that it slipped my mind.”

“Why did you answer my phone?”

“Am I not allowed to? You left it at the table. It started ringing. It seemed like the logical thing to do.”

“Not if you aren’t going to remember to pass messages along!” Clarke says, suddenly feeling exasperated. She loves Lexa, but Lexa is always so cool in the face of any fight that it makes Clarke feel crazy by comparison.

“It was an honest mistake.”

Bellamy steps in again. “What about all the other times I called? Anya and I were at the rink waiting, and I called probably two dozen times until I realized you weren’t going to show.”

Clarke pulls her phone out of her pocket confusedly. Her phone hadn’t buzzed all afternoon.

“Oh,” she says, realizing what happened as she looks at her screen. “It’s on Do Not Disturb. I’ve never bothered with that before. Why would—” 

She cuts herself off instantly, looking at Lexa.

“This doesn’t seem like something you can play off as an accident.” Her eyes narrow as she takes in her guilty girlfriend. 

“I put it on Do Not Disturb last night so we could sleep.”

“You just said my phone went off at lunch. If it was on Do Not Disturb, you never would’ve answered it in the first place.”

Lexa presses her lips together, realizing that she’s backed herself into a corner.

“Clarke,” Lexa says calmly. “Let's talk about this inside.” Then her eyes stray over to Bellamy, still fuming as he takes in the scene. “Alone.”

“No way in _hell—”_

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, putting up her hand to stop him. “I can handle this. Why don’t you go home? I’ve wasted enough of your Saturday already.”

Bellamy turns to face her, a hurt look in his eyes.

Clarke is already flagging, realizing just how disastrous this evening is bound to become, so she continues, “Please. We can rehearse tomorrow if you’re available. I’m really sorry about today. I bought you some books though,” she says, bending down to pull them from her tote. _“Notre Dame_ seemed like an easy choice. And a book on the history of the Philippines. Oh, and this one about Horatio Nelson. I wasn’t sure if that’s where you took the name Horatio from, but it seemed like a safe bet anyhow. I guess it could’ve been from Hamlet, but I figured you might be the kind of person to own a Complete Shakespeare text already, so...” She passes the books over to Bellamy one at a time as she names them, and he looks down at his hands like he’s confused about what’s happening.

“You bought me books?”

“Yeah, of course. We went to a bookshop. It’s no excuse for missing practice, but…” she trails off awkwardly before adding, “I hope you like them.

He nods absently, still looking a little bemused. “Thanks.”

“Of course. You should go home though. I can…” She huffs out an exasperated breath. “I’ll figure this out.”

His eyes drift back to Lexa, a deeply distrusting look in his eyes. He doesn’t look away when he says. “Okay. Call me the second you need anything, got it?”

She nods, and he walks towards the elevator, books cradled in his big hands.

Once the elevator doors have closed behind him, Clarke’s eyes shift immediately to Lexa.

“We need to talk.”

“Of course. Let’s do it inside though.”

Clarke unlocks the door, though the spiteful part of her wants to air their dirty laundry right here in the hall, if only to make Lexa a little bit uncomfortable. Nothing else seems to rattle her — she’s always completely self-possessed in an argument. But she doesn’t like to look stupid, and embarrassing yourself in front of the neighbors is an easy way to make that happen.

When they’re inside, door closed behind them, Clarke walks to the window, not even bothering to look back at her girlfriend.

“So what was that all about?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lying to Bellamy about passing along the message, keeping information from me to mess with our rehearsal mere weeks from the Olympics, and then trying to cover it all up so you didn’t seem complicit.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, Clarke. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No?” She asks, tone mocking. “You didn’t do it on purpose? You aren’t trying to fuck with us?”

“We’ve been dating for a year. How long do you think I would spend trying to fuck with you?” She asks, trying for the rational angle.

Only Clarke _hates_ — hates with a genuine passion — when people try to act superior in an argument because she’s deigned to show emotion.

“Don’t be fucking condescending right now. You’ve been doing this for weeks, haven’t you? Talking about the bad lift last night, even though I know it was fine. And the thing about Anya bribing judges to make us win? You said it just so I wouldn’t be able to stop worrying about it. You know she would never do that, but now I’ve got it in my head that any gold I might win won’t be done honestly.”

“It wasn’t like that, Clarke—”

“Of _course_ it was like that! You said it to get in my head, and I was too stupid to even realize! I’ve been expecting this all my life from competitors, but I didn’t think my _girlfriend_ would stoop so low.”

“I’m also your competitor,” Lexa says unaffectedly. Like it isn’t a blatant admission of guilt.

“Is that what you always were? My competitor first, and my girlfriend as a means to an end?”

Lexa doesn’t respond, face blank in a way that it hadn’t been before. Like she’s realized it isn’t worth trying to make up lies to cover up what she’s done at this point.

“What did you do?” Clarke asks, voice hardened by betrayal.

“What you would’ve done.”

The words make Clarke want to punch something, tear something apart until her fingers are bloody. But she doesn’t. All her anger sits heavily inside her, creeping through her bloodstream like fire.

Finally, in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, she bites, “You _fucking liar._ I never would’ve done this to you. I _loved—_ god, I’m such a fucking idiot. I loved you.” Her voice cracks on the final words.

“And I love you. I never said I didn’t.”

“You didn’t love me enough to stop yourself from sabotaging me.”

“My duty is to my people and my country first. You know what Canada expects.”

“Jesus christ, Lexa! This is the Olympics we’re talking about, not a fucking war! Don’t try to blame this on the expectations of your country when it has everything to do with your pride!”

“It’s what had to be done, Clarke. You know that. I made this decision with my head.” 

Clarke starts rolling back her memory, thinking through every interaction with Lexa in a new light.

“You always wanted me to visit you in Seattle so I’d have less time here.”

Lexa doesn’t make any moves to confirm or deny this thought, so she continues thinking out loud.

“You made comments about my eating and my body to… what, to send me into some anorexic spiral? You were willing to potentially ruin my health for this?”

“Don’t be so dramatic — you were fine. You barely even changed your eating habits.”

Clarke can feel the rage seething beneath her skin, desperate to be released somehow.

“You didn’t know that, though. And you didn’t know how those thoughts would burrow in my head, making me question every decision I make about food, setting back all my progress.” Then she stops, looking at Lexa’s guilt-free expression. “No, that’s too much to hope for. Of course you knew. That was the goal. To make every interaction I have with food unhealthy on the off-chance that I got so bad one way or another that it ruined my season.”

Lexa still says nothing, head raised like a queen. There is no shame in her countenance — and no remorse.

“On our first date, you joked about finding a creative way to beat me. Not hexes or voodoo dolls… you wanted something _smart.”_

“You joked about that too,” Lexa points out.

“Yeah, but I was actually kidding. It was just flirty banter. But you were being serious. You advertized the truth to me a half hour into our year long relationship and I—” 

She drops down onto the couch behind her, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“And I fell for it. God, I’m such an—”

She cuts herself off again, not wanting to bother with self-pity when she could be eviscerating Lexa instead.

“You asked me out right before Worlds. Right before we won gold last year, knocking you down to second place. That wasn’t a coincidence, was it? You said you were in town on business, but you really came to Portland with the intention of going out with me so you could get in my head.”

Lexa says nothing, but she does let her eyes drop to the floor, another silent admission of guilt.

“So Bellamy was right all along. You never wanted to date me, you just wanted to fuck with us.”

“Dating you wasn’t a hardship, Clarke. Stop being a martyr. I could do both things at once.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for being upset that your primary motivation for being in a relationship with me was to deceive me and fuck with my self-esteem so you could win a _fucking medal._ God, I can’t believe how unappreciative I’m being of the world’s best girlfriend.”

“It was a year-long relationship. I only messed with you a few times. You’re missing the forest for the trees.”

“And you’re being deliberately blasé about something _reprehensible._ Don’t pretend you wouldn’t be pissed if I had done this to you!”

“Actually I expected that you would do something in return a long time ago.”

“What?” Clarke asks, shocked.

“I assumed you’d try to fuck with me in return. You had every opportunity.”

Clarke puts her head in her hands, trying to process this.

“Lexa, I loved you. This isn’t what you do to people you love. You don’t try to undermine them or stop them from succeeding. If you had won, I would’ve been _proud_ of you. Sure, I would’ve been upset that I lost, but I’m an adult. I can compartmentalize.”

“This from the girl who was getting curses put on them as a kid?”

“Yes! Fuck, maybe I should be more jaded! But I thought I could trust you. You aren’t some angry kid in my carpool, you’re my girlfriend.”

“This doesn’t have to change that.”

Clarke laughs humorlessly, feeling so drained by the whole fight. “Yes it does. I could never trust you again. I could never be vulnerable with you.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“I’m not. You’ve been planning this since my first season as an ice dancer. This wasn’t an accident.”

Lexa looks at her curiously, but without any denial.

“You don’t have anything to say to that?” Clarke asks. “Not going to try to spin the fact that you first expressed interest in me when we beat the other Canadian team at Worlds in 2011 to win silver? That you were worried about us coming for gold?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You’re fucking lying.”

“I’m not. I wasn’t worried about you taking gold at the time. Obviously things changed later, but that wasn’t on my mind that day.”

“Oh, so you expect me to believe that you hit on me at Worlds — _not_ Four Continents a few weeks prior when we’d only managed bronze — because you were just too overcome with my beauty or some bullshit?”

Lexa purses her lips again, before visibly deciding to be honest. “I did hit on you because you’d taken silver, but not because I was worried about gold.”

Clarke shakes her head. “You expect me to believe that you were prepared to date me as a sabotage tactic for the benefit of the other Canadian team? That’s not true and you know it. Even your fucked up patriotism doesn’t run that deep.”

Clarke looks up at Lexa again, expecting to see her trying to come up with a lie, but her face just looks resigned.

“Wait,” Clarke says, confused again. “You really hit on me to help the other pair? You’re serious? You really care about national pride that much?”

Lexa looks at her warily, finally appearing to be affected by the whole conversation.

Clarke casts her mind back, trying to remember who the other team even was. There were a few Canadian teams that were vying for top spots under Lexa and Tristan, and while Clarke knew them all in passing, it was easy to mix them up at times. She hasn’t needed to be concerned about any of the bronze winners for a few years now, focusing solely on beating the reigning champions.

“Why did you care about your competition that much? It was… Artigas that year, right? Artigas and Costia?”

Lexa takes in a sharp breath before nodding once.

“And?” Clarke asks, waiting for the explanation.

“I was dating Costia at the time,” Lexa finally says. Not embarrassed, but clearly not happy to be handing out information.

“You were _dating_ her? When you hit on me? What, to protect her silver? You’d fuck with me early so I’d fail? Or quit? Didn’t she care that you were willing to have two girlfriends at once to make this work?”

“She didn’t know anything about it. You decided it wasn’t worth it to try long distance back then, and I respected that. It wasn’t the biggest priority to continue pursuing you back then.”

“It was only a priority when you were suddenly getting silver.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, letting the reality of this settle over them.

“Were you this controlling with her, too? Did you fuck with her when she got too close to your title?” She asks, glaring at Lexa with renewed anger. “Not that I wish that on her, but at least it would be consistent.”

“No, she was never serious competition.”

“God,” she says with a bitter laugh. “What a double-edged sword. You didn’t fuck with her head, which should be a good thing, but only because you didn’t respect her or see her as a genuine threat. Do you recognize how unhealthy that is? Should I consider myself lucky that I was worth all this time and energy to destroy?”

Lexa stares back, as unabashed as she had been for the entirety of the fight. “I did what I had to do, Clarke. I’m sorry if it hurt you, but I thought you knew how this worked.”

“And I thought you loved me, but we were obviously both wrong. I’d like for you to leave.”

Lexa pauses, a flicker of worry crossing her face for the first time.

“Are you going to publicize this?”

Clarke lays back on the couch, not bothering to look at her anymore. “I don’t know. I’d probably just end up looking like an idiot for thinking I could be in a stable relationship with a rival.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” she says, haughty airs returning to her voice.

“You might’ve considered that before you started any of this. If I decide to keep it to myself, it won’t be to protect your reputation. Now get out.”

Lexa leaves without another word, the door clicking quietly behind her. When she’s certain that enough time has passed for her to be safely in the elevator and out of earshot, Clarke breaks down in tears.

Her fingers fumble over her phone inelegantly, all coordination gone as she sobs.

“Bellamy,” she says as soon as she hears it pick up on the other end.

“What do you need?” He asks immediately. 

“I’m sorry, I— I shouldn’t be calling so late. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she says through her sobs, not even sure what she’s apologizing for. There are so many options.

“I’m coming up,” he responds quickly, ignoring her apologies.

“You’re still here?”

“Yeah,” he says, and she can hear movement in the background of the call. “I stayed in my car in case you needed me. Buzz me in.”

Two minutes later, he bounds into her apartment, not even bothering to take in her appearance before he’s pulling her in for a hug.

“What happened?” He asks gently.

“You were right. God, you were right. I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, trying to stop her hysterical ramblings. “It’s okay, it’s fine. Don’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault. What did Lexa do?”

He helps her to sit on the couch again, keeping her enfolded in his arms so she can bury her face in his shirt. There, she recounts the whole fight as best she can through choking sobs. He rubs her back the whole time, though she can feel the tension in his body grow as the story goes on.

“I can’t believe her. How could she—”

“You were right, Bellamy,” she cuts him off. “You said she would do this from the very first date.”

“I thought she went on _one date_ to fuck with you. I didn’t think she’d spend a year in a stable, seemingly-happy relationship with you for the same purposes. Once things got serious I got over it.”

“I thought she loved me,” Clarke whispers. Then she laughs bitterly. “I’m so pathetic.”

“You’re not.” At her disbelieving huff, he repeats himself. “You’re _not,_ Clarke. You were a good girlfriend to her, and did everything to separate the competition from your relationship. It’s what she should’ve done.”

“There were so many signs though. I should’ve realized what she was doing. I’ve had people fuck with me before; I should be able to recognize it by now.”

“She said she loved you. You didn’t have any reason to doubt that. And sometimes… sometimes it’s hard to see the signs when you’re so deep in the relationship. It doesn’t mean you’re stupid or pathetic. You’re just too good for her.”

“She thought I’d mess with her in return. Like that would somehow make the whole thing okay.”

“And you didn’t, because you have too much integrity. You’ve never messed with your competition before.”

“I haven’t had a lot of cause to.”

He keeps rubbing her back as her tears quiet somewhat.

“You didn’t have cause to before the accident, sure. But we spent two years in her shadow. You could’ve grown bitter about it like so many skaters do, but you didn’t. You worked harder to win gold, and we did. We did that all on our own, and we didn’t have to undermine anyone to do it.”

“I’m so sorry, Bellamy,” she says again. “We’re leaving in less than two weeks for Russia. She’s in my head now. I’ve ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” he says gently. “We’ll do our best. I don’t care about the Olympics, Clarke.”

“Yes you do,” she whispers into his skin, face dry now. She feels empty just thinking about what she’s done to him, to them.

He laughs quietly. “Okay, I care a little. But I care about you more.”

“You’re twenty-four already,” she says shaking her head. “If I’ve ruined this season for us, you might never get Olympic gold. It’ll be a long wait for PyeongChang in 2018.”

“Then I content myself with a nice silver or bronze medal from Sochi, and I’ll feel lucky to have you in my life.”

She pulls back, putting her hand on his cheek as she looks in his eyes. For a split second, it reminds her of Anya’s chemistry lessons so many years ago, and she almost laughs at the memory.

“I won’t mess this up for you. I’ll get myself together in time to win gold.”

“Okay,” he says easily. “I believe in you. And if we don’t win, I’ll still be here.”

* * *

She’s adamant that they keep to their grueling pre-Olympics schedule, wanting to be as prepared as possible, so they return to the rink the next day. Bellamy explains his breakthrough about the piece, realizing that the missing piece was to have, on two occasions in the song, the bells loudly ringing, mirroring the movements they already had in the choreography.

Bellamy had spoken to Anya about it the day prior, and though it took a bit of wheel-greasing on her part, she has a new version of their song ready to go, bells included.

They spend some time fixing the routine, wanting the choreography to perfectly match the timing of the sounds. They have to be perfect — the whole novel, musical, and program is named for those bells, after all.

But of course Bellamy was right, and the piece feels more complete with their inclusion. It’s the perfect detail to bring their performance home.

She’s still upset, though she puts it to the back of her mind. It’s not even that she’s upset with Lexa, though that’s there too — the heartbreak exists underneath all the anger. At the moment, she’s mainly upset that she allowed herself to be deceived in such an obvious way. She should’ve been more careful, especially when it doesn’t just negatively affect her.

But she channels the stress into her skating. All the anger goes towards her quick, impassioned movements, and all the sadness gets directed at Bellamy’s Quasimodo. She is incredibly grateful to be performing a tragedy. At least it’s honest.

* * *

They leave for Russia not long after, and the flights alone make her feel endlessly stressed. She’s used to flying all over the world for competitions, but it’s never felt like the stakes were this high before.

It’s disappointing to lose at Worlds, sure. But that competition comes around again the next year, and there’s time to redeem yourself. 

There’s no safety net with the Olympics.

She and Bellamy could conceivably continue on for another four years, working and competing until PyeongChang rolls around, but it would be a huge commitment for both of them. Figure skaters tend to retire early, and though she isn’t quite ready to be done yet, things might start winding down soon. Bellamy might not still want to be wearing lycra and waking up at five in the morning for rehearsals when he’s twenty-eight.

Their trip takes two days to accomplish, and though the whole process is draining, Bellamy doesn’t mind letting her sleep on his shoulder from JFK to Moscow.

“It might be the last night of restful sleep you get,” he jokes lightly.

“If the last good night of sleep I get is on a plane two weeks before we actually compete, you’re gonna take an accidental skate to the face as a casualty of my delirium.”

“Noted. I’ll keep an eye on your sloppy footwork.”

She presses her face more firmly into his shoulder in an effort to shut him up, but he just laughs and opens up his book on the Philippines. Seeing it in his carry on makes her smile.

* * *

Arriving in Sochi’s Olympic Village feels a little bit like turning up to Disney World, at least if Disney was centered all around sports. There’s an artificial newness to everything around them, like the whole village just sprang out of the ground, fully formed and ready for the arrival of the world’s greatest winter athletes. The area that comprises the village is massive, busses constantly doing circuits to take people to the various locations throughout. 

Forty-seven buildings were built to house the athletes, the Black Sea on one side and a beautiful mountain range on the other. There are several skating rinks and arenas, purpose-built for these two weeks. They’d even created a new theme park, the first in all of Russia, within the Olympic grounds to open first to the competitors and then to the public.

Or so says all the information she receives on the way in, anyway.

It’s overwhelming to be there, suddenly engulfed by the omnipresence of her greatest trial yet. Everything around her is decked out in the five colorful rings of the Olympic logo, and athletes are already wandering around in their patriotic apparel. It would be impossible to forget, even for a minute, exactly what it is she’s come here to do.

The rooms are spartan in comparison to the rest of the lavish site — large but empty. Twin beds, wooden cupboards for clothes, and a little bathroom are about the extent of the rooms, but she wasn’t planning to spend that much of the next few weeks huddled away anyhow. And the balcony looking out onto the water more than makes up for it.

She and Bellamy weren’t allowed to room together in the Team USA building, but they aren’t far apart, so she drops her bag off unceremoniously and moves to join him.

They have several days before the opening ceremonies, and then a week before their two days of competition, so there isn’t any rush to start rehearsing, though Anya has been very clear about exactly when they have ice time booked. There can be no mistakes here, so every minute of practice is carefully coveted. 

They made plans already to travel into the city once their own competitions were over, and she feels certain she can convince Bellamy to visit Russia’s first theme park with her at some point, but for now they’re content to explore the village and people-watch.

They find Becca Franco early on, a well known alpine-skier, as well as Zeke Shaw, a skeleton racer (which, as far as Clarke can remember, is the crazier version of luge where they travel down the track head-first going a million miles an hour).

It’s funny, really, being part of an elite club like this. She spends so much of her life surrounded by the same figure skaters each competition season that it’s nice to experience the variety of winter sports.

Also, she’s fairly certain that the guy she and Bellamy saw from behind in the village’s huge cafeteria was Sidney Crosby. 

So, yeah… She isn’t complaining at all.

They spend the afternoon getting acquainted with where different buildings are, and they stumble upon the little graveyard tucked between the USA house and Medals Plaza, where the winners will receive their awards.

“They weren’t allowed to move it,” Bellamy says, presumably because he was better at reading all the welcome information than she was.

“Oh? Were they hoping to?”

“Probably. They displaced people to build this whole complex, but apparently the law forbade them from moving human remains, so the graveyard stayed.”

“It’s a bit weird to think that they put more value on the dead than the living, but it’s nice that it’s still here.”

“Yeah, it’s a cemetery for Old Believers. Some of the people who had to move for the construction are still planning to be buried here with their ancestors, so it’s good that they kept it.”

“Are we allowed to be here? I feel like we’re trespassing,” she asks as they pass the various headstones. Many of them look quite recent, pictures of the deceased etched with fine precision into the granite and marble.

“It’s open to the public. I doubt it’ll be a huge draw for people anyhow — not when there’s a whole amusement park for people to be entertained by.”

“I like it here. It feels like the only normal thing about this whole place.”

“You don’t like the village?” He asks curiously.

“No, it’s great, and I’m really going to enjoy seeing the weird shenanigans that people get up to in the next few weeks. But it’s still a lot, being constantly reminded about why we’re here and what we might accomplish. This cemetery doesn’t feel as... _claustrophobic_ as everything else does. It’s the only authentic thing here.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulders as they make their way back out. 

“I get it. We can always come back here to clear our heads.”

She smiles up at him.

“I’m glad. We might need a hideaway. Give ourselves time to destress.”

* * *

They spend much of the afternoon of the 7th getting ready for the opening ceremonies. The athletes don’t have that much to do in the scheme of the huge, three hour production, only needing to march in behind their flag bearer when their country is called, but the whole event requires precision timing, so they spend a lot of the day waiting for exactly when they’ll be needed. It’s the essence of ‘hurry up and wait’, but she’s been preparing for this day her entire life, so she doesn’t mind.

She spends the time reflecting, head on Bellamy’s shoulder while they sit against a wall and wait to be called, all of the American athletes around them in similar positions of repose. 

It had taken so much to get to this point, and so many things had gone wrong. She’d lost every friend she had growing up in Michigan, leaving only enemies in her wake. Her first pseudo-relationship wasn’t even exclusive, and ended in her being injured and partnerless just before Vancouver. She might’ve been doing this all for the second time over if that hadn’t happened four years ago.

And then the whole Lexa affair had happened. She’s still not ready to unpack any of it, feeling a pit in her stomach each time she remembers how foolish she had been to be involved with a skater again. At least she and Finn had been a team, and while it had ruined their partnership, she wasn’t fucking the competition. But Lexa… god, that was such a stupid, rookie mistake.

But she’d gained a renewed passion for her work in the last few years, and had given herself a second chance at Olympic success.

And Bellamy, too. Bellamy was the best thing she got from uprooting her life four years ago.

She looks up at him for a moment, a tranquil smile on her face. This will all be worth it — all the pain and disappointment and heartbreak — if only she can give him gold. He deserves good things more than anyone else she knows.

He smiles down at her when he notices her looking. His hand runs idly up and down her wool-covered arm — they are, along with the rest of Team USA, wearing the frankly ridiculous looking opening ceremony outfits designed by Ralph Lauren. They look like aggressively patriotic ugly Christmas sweaters, but apparently someone decided that they were the height of Olympic fashion, so she’s not going to question it too intently.

At least they’ll all look silly on live television together.

“Still excited?” She asks.

“I’m at the opening ceremonies of the Olympics with you. You don’t really get life highlights better than this. I’ll be telling this story when we’re eighty.”

“Better than Vancouver? Or about the same?”

“Vancouver was fine,” he says flippantly, like his first experience as an olympian was somehow a very casual thing, hardly worth noting. “It’s better being here with you.”

“Cool,” she says, smiling and biting her lip. “I think it’s better with me here too.”

He laughs gently, not wanting to jostle her. Then, a few minutes later, he pulls her up to stand with him, saying, “Alright, time to get up. Looks like the Parade of Nations is starting.”

“Bellamy, we’re the sixty-sixth nation to be called. I don’t think we’re in a huge rush.”

“Well now doesn’t seem like the time to be late.”

When they finally enter, hearing _États-Unis d'Amérique_ called, they are welcomed into a packed stadium of 40,000 spectators. Just seeing the visible excitement about the coming two weeks from the people watching makes her feel anxious — but in a pleasant way. She almost wishes that they could skate their programs now so she could run off all this pent up energy. Being here is a constant push and pull between being draining and fulfilling, but right now all she feels is grateful and energetic. So few people will ever experience a moment quite like this, and she selfishly wants to bundle it up in her heart and keep it always.

Late that night, when the revelry is over and they’ve made it back to the American housing, she doesn’t bother going to her own room at all. Her roommate Fox, a snowboarder she’s met a few times but isn’t particularly close with, will probably appreciate the space.

No, she stows away in Bellamy’s room. He’d somehow managed to not get a roommate, as the one he’d been assigned was injured at the last minute and couldn’t attend. She tucks herself into the spare bed and waxes poetic about the evening. Bellamy smiles as he listens to her talk, and although he’d seen it all for himself not an hour before, he lets her keep going. 

It’s late before she finally drifts off to sleep, but she feels nothing but peace as she does. The last month has been so awful for her, but things are going to turn around. She feels very determined about that.

* * *

“Come on, come on!” Anya shouts from the side of the rink. “More energy, more passion! I know you’re tired, but you skate this in _three days,_ and it has to be perfect.”

Clarke skates towards her water bottle, needing a second to catch her breath and get a drink. They’d been rehearsing for much of the morning, and while it’s as near to perfect as she can imagine, they’re all feeling tense so close to the end.

“You’ve both worked hard,” Anya says, more calmly now that they’re all in close proximity. “And this is the best I’ve seen you skate. Gold is within reach. I just need a little more. The internet loves you two for a reason — lean into the love story as much as you can. I want to see genuine despair in the ice.”

“Despair,” Clarke says. “Got it.”

Anya rolls her eyes. “Bellamy, please tell me you’ve actually got it.”

He cocks his head to the side, thoughts moving almost visibly through his head. Then, “I have an idea. If we pick up from the final sequence I can explain it as we go. And if you hate it just let me know.”

They skate through the ending, moving closer to half speed than the actual tempo so he can talk as they skate. 

His idea is simple, really. In the section of the medley where _Danse mon Esmeralda_ plays, when Clarke is technically meant to be dying — or, at the least, very unattainable to Quasimodo — he wants to lean into one of their embraces, looking as though he might kiss her.

She’s surprised that it wasn’t choreographed that way originally once he brings it up. It would’ve made sense to put something like that there, fitting perfectly with the music, the tone of the final moments, and with their movements.

It does make her a little nervous, though, the first time he tries.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he jokes quietly as they move into the lift immediately following the exchange. “Steady on your skates. This would be the absolute worst time to fall.”

“Shut up,” she says lightly as he places her down on the ice again. “Worst time to fall would obviously be in three days on live tv.”

The more they run it, the more comfortable she is with the change. Acting opposite Bellamy hasn’t been hard since the embarrassing chemistry lessons of their first season. Now being in love with him is practically second nature. He is the easiest person to love. He already radiates it in everything he does, and giving it back to him is just as natural.

This little addition, so small in the scheme of their whole performance, really seals the deal for her. It’s done. Every change they’ve made, every stumble along the way has given them a damn near perfect routine. 

Lexa better have the good sense not to be resting on her laurels. Her dumb plan may have broken Clarke’s heart, but it’s only made her more certain than ever that she has to win.

* * *

She doesn’t bother watching the competition two days later as they warm up to perform their short dances. Lexa is here somewhere, of course, along with all the other qualifying ice dancers from around the world. But it hardly matters — these moments are just for her. No one is going to get in her head.

When she and Bellamy finally skate out to center ice in their opening poses for _I Could’ve Danced All Night,_ she feels the heavy thumping of her heart in her chest — nervous and excited and _overwhelmed._ The cameras are everywhere, trained on her. Thousands of eyes are watching her every move in this rink alone, and millions potentially around the world. Whatever happens in the next three and a half minutes will exist in Youtube videos until the internet ceases to exist.

(Bellamy has reliably informed her that it’s not very likely that the internet will up and disappear any time soon, so she isn’t holding out hope that anything embarrassing will be expunged).

She looks to him once, smiling with her eyes. A light blush heats her cheekbones in the cold arena, and she knows the color will match her pretty pink dress.

He nods subtly in return as they wait for their music to begin, and then—

And then.

If anyone asked her to describe the minutes she spends in adjudicated competition, she’d say that it’s always, _always_ a blur. Her senses are heightened to the exact moment she’s in and the exact move coming next. There is nothing else. The twizzles don’t exist until they _do._ There are no lifts until she’s nearly in them. Every smile is the only smile.

It’s the only way she can process it all without driving herself crazy. Each moment is entirely its own — the very center of her universe.

They bounce across the ice during their quickstep sequence, light and dainty on their feet with a joyous sort of spontaneity.

No one will ever know the blood that went into perfecting that section of the performance, of course. But she’ll know. And their scores will reflect the work, if nothing else.

When they finish, posing in each other's arms and smiling, she feels glad. So glad, just for this moment, to be here doing what she loves. Grinning and light and radiant. 

They go through their bows before skating off to Anya.

When the scores come in, it’s no surprise that they’ve set a new record for the highest short dance score.

It’s also no surprise, at least not to her, that they’re more than two full points ahead of Lexa and Tristan. Nothing will be decided for certain until they skate their free dances tomorrow, but the lead makes her heady. She knows how good their free dance is, and the point differential will be hard to overcome.

She doesn’t want to be a sore winner either, or bitter about the past — but seeing Lexa’s pinched face as they sit through the post-short dance press conference makes her a little happier than she’s proud to admit.

* * *

They’re up early the next day, going through a series of stretches and a light workout to get themselves competition-ready. 

Of course, the unfortunate thing about attending the same international event as your ex is that it’s difficult to keep away from them entirely. It’s not much of a surprise when Lexa turns up in the gym, water bottle in hand and dressed in the red and white of her country’s flag.

“Clarke,” she says quietly, though not meekly. “Congratulations on your record yesterday.”

She nods politely, not wanting to engage. “Thank you.”

“And good luck today. I hope you do well.”

“Lexa,” Bellamy says, tone low and menacing. "What are you doing?”

“I wanted to… I wanted to apologize. For everything. I’m really sorry, Clarke. I know what I did wasn’t fair to you.”

“You can apologize to her tomorrow,” he replies, not willing to budge on the point. “You’re not doing her any favors bringing this all up now.”

Clarke doesn’t bother butting in to defend herself on either front, because she isn’t really sure what to say. She doesn’t forgive Lexa, and she doesn’t really want to fight about why she can’t.

“No, I know… It’s just. I love you, Clarke,” she says, eyes boring into Clarke’s with heavy emotion.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say. I don’t want to do this now.” She tries desperately to keep her voice unaffected.

“You don’t have to say anything. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I just wanted to tell you that I still love you, and I’m wishing you luck.”

With all her excitement and energy for the day now suitably depleted, she doesn’t even bother to look at Lexa when she says, “You should go.”

Lexa leaves without another word, and tears cloud Clarke’s vision.

“That was such a dick move. I can’t believe she really—” Bellamy stops, noticing her expression. “Hey, Clarke, are you okay?” He pulls her into a hug, and it makes her feel so ridiculously tired of being weak. She should be stronger than this. If not for herself — which would be ideal — then at least for him. At least for today. There isn’t time to be sad about a stupid breakup when they have a job to do. She has all the time in the world to cry or be angry starting tomorrow.

“Sorry,” she says hastily, wiping at her eyes. “I shouldn’t have let it bother me. Only… Only she came here to mess with me again. None of that was true, or not true enough to wait until tomorrow. And even when I hate her, part of me still wishes she could just love me like a normal person. So…” she pauses, choking on a laugh, “that was pretty shitty of her.”

“It was. Don’t let her get in your head. She was never good enough for you anyway.”

“I won’t let her mess with our performance, I swear.”

“I don’t care, Clarke. I told you that the night everything went down and I’ll tell you again today, because it’s true. If we fuck everything up today and drop into last place, I won’t care. I don’t want her messing with your head because it’s not _healthy,_ Clarke. The performance doesn’t even factor into that, except that I know losing would only upset you more.”

“Then let's go win, and afterwards we can eat ice cream and I’ll cry or something emotional like that.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You really are such a mom friend, you know,” she says quietly. “I’m not complaining or anything. It’s just an observation.”

He laughs, breaking through some of the tension. “Thanks, I think.”

* * *

When she’s safely in her costume and skates, Bellamy next to her in similar attire, she can’t help but let out a relieved breath. It would’ve been stupid for someone to actually cut up their costumes or steal their skates, but stupider things have happened already, so she hasn’t been prepared to assume the best.

“We’re gonna win this,” he says, watching as the others go through their skates. They had drawn lots for the order they would perform today, and Bellamy and Clarke had come in dead last. It’s an agonizing wait, her stomach clenched so tight she’s surprised she’s even functional, but the upside is that their scores will immediately tell them if they’ve won or not. They won’t have to wait and watch other performers after they’re done to see how they compare.

Finally, when the penultimate team leaves the ice and receives their score (one that doesn’t put them in the top three, much to their chagrin), she hears them being called to the ice.

“Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake from the United States of America,” says the placid voice over the intercom.

He takes her hand as they skate a quick lap to get their bearings. Just as they move into their starting position for _Notre Dame de Paris,_ he quietly says, “Together?”

And she quirks up the corner of her mouth, not wanting to smile too much simply due to the nature of their piece. But it’s enough for him to see, and his eyes twinkle as she whispers back, “Together.”

And then the music starts, and they’re off.

It’s the longest four and a half minutes of her life.

Every movement matters, every touch and lift and look intentional. But this routine is deep in their muscle memory, and their bodies recognize every note. They don’t miss a beat.

Bellamy’s almost-kiss goes off without a hitch, and there’s a brief second where she internally smiles to think about all the gifs that moment will inspire. Maybe the internet will have them giving little Horatio a brother or sister soon.

When they finish the piece, sliding across the ice on their knees into the final agonized poses, the audience explodes in cheers.

Chests heaving after an arduous performance, they both rise and hug each other before moving to face the judges and the crowds. No matter what scores they receive, they’ve done all they could today to win. It feels good to have it out of her hands. There is nothing more of her to give.

She keeps her hand in Bellamy’s through the bows and skating off the ice. Anya, never one to show unnecessary emotion, pulls them both into a hug immediately after they step onto the spongy mat around the rink. It’s a quick hug, perfunctory and polite, but Clarke knows that it is also completely genuine. She’s proud of them, even if she can’t bring herself to be exuberant publicly. 

Clarke hugs her back, heart overflowing.

They sit, all clasping hands again, as they wait to receive the final scores. She can feel the eyes of the world on her anxious face, caught from every conceivable angle on camera.

It makes her think back to their very first season together, hoping with everything in them to take silver at Worlds instead of bronze. They’d beaten out Artigas and Costia that year, and the moment the scores came in had been euphoric.

This will be all the sweeter.

She barely hears the announcement of their score, the blood rushing in her ears too loud to let her completely focus. But then she sees the score pop up on the screens, and her heart stops.

116.89.

A new personal best.

A new world record.

A new world record that beats the one Lexa and Tristan had only _just set_ twenty minutes before them.

Gold.

She pulls Bellamy into a tight hug, smiling against his neck as they take in what this means.

They’re olympic gold medalists. The first in American ice dancing history. And no one can ever, ever take that away from them.

She grins, pulling back to wave at the camera mirthfully. 

* * *

The flower ceremony takes a while to start, but when they finally make it to the podium and place themselves on the top, she feels the excess of joy at what they’ve accomplished. Being here, being champions… there is no feeling to rival that. It makes everything, every pain in her past, pale in comparison. No one can take this moment from her, no matter what comes next. Someone could break their record as quickly as they’d set it, but it wouldn’t change anything about today.

And sure, having to exchange cheek kisses with Lexa in her second place spot is a bit awkward, but she also feels vindicated. For all of Lexa’s machinations, she’s still standing in the silver medalists’ position. 

They won’t get their actual medals until the following day at the aptly named Medals Plaza, where a crowd of people will attend to watch the figure skaters receive their honors. But the flowers are enough for today. She’ll appreciate the ceremony so much more tomorrow when she’s had some time to shake off the daze she’s in.

They smile and wave to the audience when they have bouquets in hand, and then Clarke wraps her arm around Bellamy’s waist, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

She never could’ve done this without him. There was never a future that included olympic gold that didn’t also include Bellamy.

* * *

Clarke and Bellamy get stuck at the rink long after most of the other skating teams have gone — there are reporters to talk to and soundbites to give, so they’re technically still on the clock.

By the time things mostly clear out, Clarke makes a quick escape towards the locker rooms, eager to change out of her red and black costume and into something comfortable. Bellamy walks behind her, giving a quick interview to a blogger who isn't very famous, but whose content he had always enjoyed. Roma had apparently lucked out, getting to the Olympics as a member of the press mainly by chance, but Bellamy is happy to give her a few minutes of his time as they move through the complex. He even lets her take some video as they chat in lieu of an audio-only recording, but with the caveat that she will only use the video as a way to help her describe things in her piece later — she can’t actually release the video as it would go against about a hundred contracts far above any of their heads.

Clarke moves ahead of them, walking with purpose in the hope that no one else will stop her this late in the day. The sweat has long since dried to her skin, and the heavy makeup she wears now feels oppressive against her face. She’s so eager to get back to Bellamy’s room so they can curl up in pajamas and freak out about their day.

Only when she opens the door into the long-since abandoned locker room, her makeup and pajamas are the last things on her mind. Because inside, hidden away in a corner, is Maya Vie. And she isn’t alone.

The first thing Clarke notices is her eyes, squeezed closed so painfully tight as if to escape the reality around her — like if she focuses hard enough, she could disappear by sheer force of will.

And that, of course, is when Clarke takes in who exactly the lanky man pinning Maya up against the wall is, hands fondling her as she quietly begs him to stop.

“Oh my god,” Clarke whispers, frozen for just a moment.

It’s enough, though. Long enough for Bellamy and Roma, standing not far behind her in the hall outside the locker room, to turn and look at her. Long enough for the camera in Roma’s hand to catch Maya being assaulted. And long enough, less than two seconds later, to record Clarke _flying_ in their direction, using the full force of her person to bodyslam Cage Wallace to the ground.

 _“You piece of shit!”_ She screams, hands already raining down on him. It’s useless though; the shock of the moment is more frightening than anything about her fighting technique. But he makes no immediate moves to defend himself, so she keeps beating her hands down against him.

“Clarke!” Bellamy calls, having run into the locker room after her, pulling her off Cage to hold him down himself. “Roma, go find… someone. Anyone wearing something that looks IOC official. Or Anya. Or anyone that doesn’t look like a journalist, honestly.”

Roma turns quickly, running out to find someone to report this to, while Clarke tries to get a hold of herself. She wants to comfort Maya — she _should_ be comforting Maya. That’s what any decent person would be doing right now. But she doesn’t know how, doesn’t know what words can be said to make anything about this better. And the rage and adrenaline are still singing in her veins, circuiting through every inch of her body, only to return to the center where her heart pumps it back out, good as new.

She stumbles back, sinking down against the wall, clenching and unclenching her fists to try to keep things together. Her knuckles are already bruising, but she only notices it peripherally. 

If only… _if only—_

She’s not sure how long it takes, but eventually the right people are found. Maya is bundled up — by family members maybe, or by Jasper — and taken away to safety. A whole group of people come to deal with Cage, still being held down by Bellamy. She’s not sure who the people are or what kind of retribution he will face. Who do you answer to for a crime at the Olympics? Is it under US jurisdiction, or will the Russians handle it?

She doesn’t know, but the questions only seem to freeze her in her mind.

Before they manage to remove him from the locker room, having to deal with all the bureaucracy of crime first, she slips out from the scene and into the fresh air. She doesn’t want to be in there any longer. At some point they’ll need to take a statement from her. Or maybe arrest her too. But those are problems for later. Right now, all she can focus on is trying to breathe.

* * *

It’s Bellamy — of _course_ it’s Bellamy — who finds her first.

“I should’ve known you’d come here,” is all he says, stepping carefully around the graves.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispers, tear tracks still evident on her face.

“Sorry it took me so long. I had to stay there until they carted him away.”

“No, that’s… that’s good. I’m glad you were there to sort things out.” Her voice is hoarse and lifeless.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, kneeling in front of her on the cold ground. He uses the sleeve of his warm up track jacket, pulled down over his wrist and palm, to wipe at the lingering tears under her eyelids.

“Is _she_ okay? Do you think— god, I don’t— do you think…?” She says, stumbling through half finished thoughts that she can’t seem to complete.

“I think,” he pauses, taking a moment to think. “I think probably she isn’t okay, at least right now. And maybe not for a while. We don’t know if this was the first time or if it was part of a pattern. But you helped her. Even if she’s not okay, she’s all the better for your being there.”

Clarke’s tears begin anew at his words. “I should’ve—” she says in a sob, “I should’ve told someone.”

“Told someone what?”

“I could’ve _stopped him._ I should’ve told someone. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.”

“Clarke, it’s not your fault.” He pulls her into his chest. Despite the fact that Sochi isn’t actually very cold in winter, her body is shaking. Cold from the shock, and exacerbated by the fact that she’d run out still dressed in her costume, barely more than a slip of a dress. “It’s not your fault.” He runs his hands up and down her arms, trying to warm her up and keep the blood flowing.

“No, it is. It’s my fault. I never told anyone, and I should have. I could’ve stopped this from ever happening.”

“What are you talking about?” He tries to keep his voice light, not wanting to worry her further, but his mind immediately starts thinking the worst possible thoughts about what she could mean. “What did he do?”

“He… god— do you remember when Jasper ran into me a few years ago?”

“Yeah, of course. You thought it was to mess with us before Four Continents.”

She buries her face in his shoulder, embarrassed to have to bring this up. “It was so stupid. I thought I’d imagined it. But after the doctor checked for a concussion, Cage— he… he came into the room, and he touched me.”

She feels Bellamy’s hands ball up into fists where they rest against her back, but she powers through, wanting to get it over with. “It wasn’t anything, really. Just… just on my thigh. High enough to be uncomfortable. He was complimenting me, and I wanted to leave. I should’ve told someone after it happened, but he never did it again. I thought I’d made it up. It was such a little thing. But maybe he’s been doing this with other girls the whole time. If… if it’s a pattern, I could’ve stopped it.”

Her crying devolves further until she can’t continue talking, breaths leaving her body in agonizing gasps. He runs his fingers gently through her hair.

“It’s not your fault, Clarke,” he says, repeating the words a hundred times into her temple. “It’s not your fault. It’s his fault. You stopped him when you could.”

They stay there until her tears run dry, and then he carefully lifts her up in his arms, a sick parody of the lifts they’d performed only this afternoon, to take her back to their building.

“Everyone will see. People will ask questions,” she whispers tonelessly. She doesn’t actually want to leave his arms, doesn’t want to walk or move or do anything. But she doesn’t want to be noticed either. Doesn’t want to have to explain anything.

“The Olympic Village is weird enough that this won’t register. It’s late anyway, so no one will be paying attention,” he replies quietly. “And… I think people are going to know soon no matter what. I’m really sorry. A coach being forcibly removed from an Olympic venue is bound to get attention. And if Maya wants to bring charges against him, there’s video evidence. It would be hard to keep any of this a secret.”

She doesn’t bother responding. More than anything, she wishes she could fade into obscurity. Melt into Bellamy’s arms and disappear.

They’re in his room before she knows it, and after changing into sweats, he helps tuck her into the spare bed, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

It only takes twenty minutes of spinning out of control in her own head before she pulls the covers back on Bellamy’s bed and climbs in beside him. He doesn’t even question it — just moves one arm to let her settle in against his side.

She thinks about Cage. Lexa. Jasper. Finn. Josephine and the Lightbournes. Gaia and Luna. Everyone who has made a sport she loved into hell.

She mostly thinks about Maya though. And the other girls who train with Cage, other girls he has contact with and access to. She thinks about little Rose, who ended up in an in-patient program because of her disordered eating. All the people who have suffered in pursuit of a gold medal. 

It makes her feel cold, remembering the medal she is set to receive the next day.

She can’t bring herself to look at Bellamy when she says it, letting the darkness of the room hide her shame.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He doesn’t ask for clarification. He doesn’t beg her to think it over or sleep on it. He just trails his fingertips down her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I know.”

* * *

They don’t talk about it in the morning, getting ready mostly in silence. She puts on a lot of makeup, needing to hide her puffy eyes and the shadows under them. Whatever the world may or may not know about what had happened yesterday, the cameras will still expect poise from her today.

The only thing Bellamy does mention as they prepare is that they’d had an early morning visitor, though he had made sure it didn’t wake her up. Dante Wallace, having spoken with his son, the police, and both Maya and Roma, came to let Clarke know that his family would not be attempting to take any action against her or spin the story to make her an aggressor. Whatever comes of this, she will only be a witness.

It’s a small comfort in the scheme of things, but it does give her some relief. She wasn’t sure what would happen to her if they tried to charge her with something.

They receive their medals with all due pomp and circumstance that afternoon, hundreds of cameras documenting her expressions for all time. Lexa and Tristan stand to one side of them, and the French team who had taken third place stand on the other. She puts on a hollow, empty smile as they place the gold around her neck.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, this was her greatest wish. It hadn’t even been a full day since they’d completed their skate. And now, the victory tastes like ash in her mouth. It doesn’t mean anything in the face of so much horror. 

She keeps the smile on her face.

Her mother calls that night, wanting to make plans now that they’re done competing. She declines every call as they ring through to her phone. Eventually, Bellamy answers and tells her they’re not feeling well after all the stress of the last week.

The news breaks three days later. They spend most of their time in Bellamy’s room or in the graveyard. She wants, more than anything, to go home.

* * *

On the night before the closing ceremony, they’re pulled out of their hideaway to perform in the figure skating gala show.

Every year, when the best figure skaters from all four disciplines come together for Worlds or the Olympics, they close the competition with a gala. The gala performance is meant to highlight the best of the best in the world without the restrictions of judged competition; they can skate to any song choice, do any tricks that are banned by IOC regulations, and don’t have to worry about required elements. It’s a way to highlight the beauty and the joy of skating. 

Tickets to gala shows sell out faster than the tickets to any other figure skating event. They’re fun and irreverent in a way that competitions never can be. And as the ice dance champions, Bellamy and Clarke have to participate.

She’s done galas every season since she was a teen, always being high enough in the rankings to be invited. Now, with the strange fame they have received from being a beloved ice dancing team, their performance is one of the most coveted. They’d prepared a song along with their two competition pieces, knowing they would be doing the gala as well, though now she can’t think of anything she wants to do less. The routine is to “Stay” by Rihanna. It was meant to be a sexy piece, but she’s lucky that the song is sad because that’s more in line with the emotional range she’s currently working with.

When their skates and costumes are on and they’re standing rinkside hearing their names announced as the next performers, Bellamy holds out his hand to her.

“One last time?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Together.”

She dances around Bellamy, gliding in perfect time with him across the ice. When the choreography brings them intimately together, she can see the tears in his eyes.

Her eyes are shiny too.

When the song ends, the audience cheers with rapturous applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… did you like the Olympics? [awkward face emoji]
> 
> I have a ton of notes about this chapter, so bear with me if you want the inside scoop.
> 
> First, if you haven’t watched the videos I linked in the note at the top, please do. There are real performances for all the ones I’ve written about, though I’ve taken some artistic license to ‘reimagine’ them.
> 
> Horatio! There really was a rumor that Canadians Virtue and Moir had a secret baby, so he was based on that.
> 
> If Lexa seemed harsh in this chapter… yeah. But also I took multiple lines DIRECTLY from the conversation where she betrayed Clarke at Mount Weather. Her role in this story was very much Season 2 Lexa. Sorry to Lexa fans but there is no redemption arc for her in this story.
> 
> Also, sorry Canada! I hope you know I have nothing but love for you! Clarke and Bellamy are American simply because they landed in the former US in the show. I kept the rivalry between the US and Canada the same as it is in real life, though Bellamy and Clarke are inspired hugely by both Virtue and Moir (Canadians) and Davis and White (Americans). So Lexa isn’t actually meant to represent the real Team Canada or their figure skaters, because you guys are amazing!
> 
> I wanted to have Bellamy and Clarke share a room in Sochi, but each country decides their own rules for housing, and America doesn’t even let MARRIED opposite sex athletes stay together. I’d say it’s a great time to be gay, but this was also in Russia, soooooo. Having Bellamy’s roommate not turn up was creative license again. Realistically I doubt he’d end up with a room of his own.
> 
> The Sochi graveyard is real, and was one of my favorite finds while doing research! I feel like that would’ve been such a nice place to sit and get away from everything for a bit, so of course it ended up in the story. The theme park is also real, though Bellamy and Clarke never made it there.
> 
> And okay, *that* scene. Let me be honest with you guys: Cage was always going to be a piece of shit in this story. I wanted to spend time highlighting the horrible and very real downsides of being at the absolute top of your class in sports like these. Rose (who has been mentioned a few times) was based on the many, many real skaters who have spoken out about their eating disorders as a result of the toxic culture. The Cage and Maya situation was mainly based on the US gymnasts and L*rry N*ssar.
> 
> In the original outline for the story, Clarke and Bellamy were going to lose to Lexa in Sochi after she got into Clarke's head. But with the breakup before and the assault immediately after, it seemed sort of awful to give them silver too. Like it’s way less important in the scheme of things, but I did want to throw them a bone re: kicking Lexa’s ass.
> 
> Having said all of that, this story isn’t over, and it WILL have a happily ever after. I’m still thinking there will be 2 chapters left, but I’ll have to see how things shake out from here. I may end up being one chapter if I can get my shit together.


	7. Chapter 7

Her mom wants to follow her home from the Olympics, already trying to talk to lawyers and sports publications and a million other people to make sure her image is okay. Clarke refuses to let her book a ticket to Portland, saying that she is more than capable of handling things as they come.

None about her situation is ideal, but she hadn’t actually come off badly in the news. It’s the smallest of blessings relative to the rest of the crisis, but tackling a man very obviously while being filmed hasn’t earned her many notable enemies. It’s only the dregs of humanity who are proud to be idiots from behind their keyboards that don’t mind speaking ill of her. Unfortunately, they number far more than anyone is ever happy to admit.

Everyone — _everyone,_ seriously — told her not to look at what people had been saying online, and usually that’s enough for her. She’s never liked knowing what random strangers think of her body or her skating or her personality when they don’t really know anything about her as a person. But this time, she doesn’t want to listen to the advice. She’s been blind-sided too often recently, and now she needs to have the full scope of the situation. Whatever it is that people are saying about her, she deserves to be aware.

 **@redpillrandy** _21hr_

looks 2 me like nothign bad was happening in the video. It couldve been consensual people!!!!! clarke griffin just wanted more attention

 **@bulletcatcher** _12hr_

team usa should be ashamed. those skaters should’ve just been happy to win gold. keep your mouths shut about stuff that doesn’t concern you

There are hundreds of similar comments disparaging her and Maya in turn. She shouldn’t have made a scene. Maya was probably just lying. Cage and Maya were dating in secret and she just didn’t want to put out. Clarke was trying to put all the attention on herself, as if a gold medal wasn’t enough.

The horrible tweets and article comments go on and on, an endless scroll of the worst thoughts people have about her.

Her phone started ringing off the hook two days after the video dropped, but she never bothers to answer. Some of the calls are from reporters eager for a scoop. Some of them, she fears, are just from regular angry people who have somehow found her number. She isn’t sure where it was posted, but she’s certain that it must’ve ended up somewhere public.

Bellamy comes over most afternoons just to hang out. They’ve never had so much free time staring them in the face — besides some post-Olympic interviews and work for their brand sponsorships, they don’t have anything else to do. No rehearsals, no meetings with Anya… the whole of 2014 seems to be a blank slate.

It should scare her more. At the minute, though, she can’t find it in herself to care. There will always be a part of her that misses skating — it had, after all, formed the core of her being for the majority of her life — but she knows this is the right time to take a step back.

“Are you going to miss it?” She asks one night while trying to throw pieces of popcorn into Bellamy’s open mouth.

“I already don’t miss waking up for practice at 4:30,” he says, just before catching the latest piece in an impressive dive. She smiles and claps when he bows theatrically. “But I guess there are parts I’ll miss. I’m not really sure what we do next. It formed our entire daily schedule. What are we supposed to do with ourselves now?”

“You mean besides watching old Seinfeld reruns and resting on our laurels?”

“I’m sure that’ll get old eventually.”

“Yeah,” she says, trying not to let herself feel too down about the whole thing. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Oh, loads of things. Sports commentator for figure skating—”

“Not a very steady job.”

“—skating coach for kids—”

“All the moms would try to date you.”

“—college student—”

“Four years?!”

“—best selling author of a self-help book—”

“Who would read that?”

“—or Dancing with the Stars.”

“That’s it. That’s the one. Who do we call to get on Dancing with the Stars?”

“You probably have to know a guy.”

“We have connections. We can leverage the medals.”

“We’ll start a twitter campaign. Those always work.”

Her next piece of popcorn only narrowly avoids hitting him directly in the eye, and before they can continue the conversation any further, he has tackled her off the couch, popcorn flying everywhere.

She only ever really feels like herself when he’s around — which is why she’s so grateful that he almost always is.

* * *

Clarke flicks through the channels on her tv, looking for something mindless to put on. She’s never been very attuned to network shows, always too busy to keep up with a weekly release schedule. Now, though, she has nothing but time to catch up on everything she’s missed.

She’s just passing a news station when she hears it.

“Breaking news today in the sports world. Apparently an insider in the Cage Wallace case—”

She puts the remote down, no longer planning to continue her channel surfing.

“—has uncovered another _fourteen_ girls and women who have come forward against the former figure skater and Olympic coach. The story originally emerged during last month’s Olympic Games in Sochi, where a video was released showing Wallace…”

She tunes out the rest of what the newscaster says, eyes wide with shock at this information. 

Fourteen others who have come forward. At least fifteen total women who had been sexually abused to some degree by Cage Wallace.

She wonders how many of them were recent — how many of them she could’ve protected.

The truth is — or the truth she’s trying to help herself come to terms with — is that the answer might actually be zero.

She’d started seeing a therapist since returning home, wanting to have someone to dump all of her emotional mess on, and Dr. Marcus Kane had slowly been helping to unravel all her complicatedly tangled thoughts on the matter. The reality of the situation is that, even if she had said something years ago, it might not have mattered.

It’s a sobering thing to think, but she understands what he means when he says it. Cage Wallace, though certainly not a household name by any means, was still a well-respected man in the world. He was a former Olympian (though he’d never medaled) and a coach of several years. With his father standing behind him, he had been virtually untouchable — the Wallace name in figure skating apparently carried a lot more weight than she’d realized. 

And anyways, even if he hadn’t been a well-regarded man in his field, he was a _man._ Putting it lightly, what he did to Clarke never would’ve been seen as important enough to derail his career in any way. It wouldn’t have stopped people from working with him or parents booking him to train their children.

It’ll only be the collective voices of all the lives he’s incalculably altered that will bring about any real justice.

She drives over to Bellamy’s house that night, hoping that he’s still home. They don’t often hang out there, considering he still lives with his mother and Octavia in order to help support them, but she’s always enjoyed her visits — Octavia has been talking about applying to colleges with her boyfriend Ilian, and it makes Clarke smile to think about what her life might’ve been like if she’d gone down a similar path.

(Of course, Bellamy hates that Octavia wants to go to college with Ilian, saying she shouldn’t choose where she’s going based on a boy. But that always starts an argument these days, so he mostly tries to keep his opinions on the matter to himself. Octavia had already promised that she wasn’t limiting herself on her options since she and Ilian were interested in the same schools regardless.)

“Hey,” Octavia says when she opens up the door after Clarke’s knock. “Bellamy is upstairs. Did you know about Agrippina?”

“Did I— what?”

“Not what,” she says with a laugh. “Agrippina’s a who… sort of. Bellamy got a dog.”

Clarke’s eyes fly over to the staircase that leads to Bellamy’s bedroom. He hadn’t mentioned anything about getting a dog, though she had known that he’d always wanted one.

“There’s a _dog_ upstairs?” She asks, voice already a little more lively.

“Oh just go,” she says, gesturing to the staircase. “I know the puppy outranks me now as most interesting member of the Blake household. I have homework to pretend to do anyways.”

“Thanks, Octavia!” She says, already halfway upstairs. “It’s nice to see you!”

She can hear Octavia laughing from below.

“Octavia said there’s a—” she says, opening the door.

It’s much, much worse than she could’ve imagined. 

Bellamy is sitting on the floor, dimples on his cheeks and a lap filled with golden retriever. She’s still small enough to be called a puppy, eagerly jumping on his legs and trying to lick his face. 

In short, it’s a horrendously adorable picture.

“—puppy. Oh my god.”

“Clarke!” He says, looking up at her with a smile. “I didn’t realize you were coming over. Meet Agrippina.”

She sits down across from him, crossed knees bumping his own. He holds the puppy up to her, waving her paws at Clarke in greeting.

“When did you decide to get a dog?” She asks, reaching forward to steal the perfect little ball of joy. Agrippina licks her hand to say hello.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but it was harder when I wasn’t around as much. I don’t want to burden Octavia with all the dog maintenance, and we used to work such long hours. Now that we’re not gonna be skating all the time, it seemed like something I could manage.”

“What about when we have to travel for business?”

“Octavia doesn’t mind watching her for a bit, so that’s an option for short trips. But for anything longer I’d probably either board her or bring her. Isn’t she cute?” He asks, watching as Agrippina tries to climb up Clarke to lick her face.

“She’s perfect. Agrippina?”

He looks down at his lap, smiling with embarrassment. “Roman empress.”

“You really do have a brand,” Clarke says, laughing. 

“Technically Octavia wasn’t named after an empress — just the sister of an emperor. If that changes anything.”

She smiles down at Agrippina, letting the hyperactive little puppy bat at her hair. “It really, really doesn’t. But at least you’re consistent. Don’t use up all the passable names before you have kids, or you’ll actually end up with babies called Horatio.”

“If I’m keeping with the Roman theme, it would be Horatius or Horatia.”

“Oh my god,” she groans. “You’re such a nerd.” But the smile she flashes him is wide and honest.

They play with the puppy for so long that she almost forgets why she came over, but eventually she asks him, “Did you see the news today?”

“No — what happened?”

“Fourteen people came forward making claims of abuse against Cage. I’m sure that’ll make for an eventful trial.”

“Oh,” he says, pulling his hand away from Agrippina to look up at her. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not really about me. I almost feel like I’ve been trying to co-opt something that I wasn’t involved in. None of this is my story.”

“You’re allowed to be upset about this if that’s how you feel, Clarke. If you’re actually okay with it all, then I’m glad. But you aren’t stealing anything from the others by being upset with what happened to you.”

She doesn’t meet his eyes, changing the subject. “I wonder if there are others still out there who haven’t come forward.”

“Maybe,” he replies carefully. “There’s strength in numbers. More people might come forward when they see the media reaction to the story and realize that they won’t be torn apart for speaking up.”

She lays back on the ground, letting Agrippina crawl over her. “I hope he goes to prison.”

“Me too.”

She doesn’t mean to stay the night, but by the time she realizes how tired she is, it’s already nearly one in the morning. Without clear and rigid schedules, they’re basically both disasters. 

Bellamy, naturally, offers to sleep on the couch, but after she’s changed into some of his stolen sweats, she just pulls him into his bed alongside her.

Agrippina cuddles up between them. It’s nice.

* * *

Their publicist — who deals more often with Abby than either Bellamy or Clarke, despite the distance — tells them that they’ve been invited to a few high profile tv spots. None of this is that appealing to Clarke, but it also didn’t seem like her opinion on the matter was in any way relevant, so she resigns herself to it. They’ve had to navigate through loads of sponsorship events and interviews since leaving Russia with gold medals a few months back.

“Look, we need to keep talk about you two up while we can. The Olympic high is already almost completely faded, and with you two no longer competing, there isn’t a lot we can use to get people excited going forward. Reminding people about your victory is the best way that we can capitalize on this right now while they still care.”

“Do we have to capitalize at all?” She asks seriously. “If it isn’t a requirement of our promotional agreements?”

“I assume you like making money?” Their publicist asks in return.

She thinks about what it takes to keep sponsorships and tours when you’ve technically left competition. She also thinks of Bellamy, wanting desperately to help Octavia pay for college. They’re both well-enough off after several successful years as the best US ice dancers, but college is the money version of a black hole.

“I guess.”

“Me too. So put these dates in your schedule.”

* * *

A few weeks laters, she is standing dutifully backstage in a Burbank studio, waiting to be called on to film. It might be exciting if she wasn’t so nervous.

Ellen’s people had been warned well in advance that she wasn’t allowed to mention anything about the forthcoming Cage Wallace case or Clarke’s role in it, but it’s not impossible that it will somehow ‘accidentally’ come up anyway. After all, Ellen is the person who forced Mariah Carey to disclose her pregnancy on live tv, so there are no guarantees.

“It’ll be fine,” Bellamy says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself as much as her. “We’ve done hundreds of interviews before. This is nothing new.”

“Being on the Ellen Degeneres show is slightly bigger than our typical interview, even with respect to the Olympics.”

“Maybe she’ll just do something weird for five minutes and then we can leave.”

“Maybe,” she says, unconvinced. 

Eventually she hears clapping from the live studio audience, and an overworked stagehand gestures for them to walk towards the couch. Taking one last deep breath to steady herself, she walks out towards Ellen with Bellamy in tow.

They say their polite hellos and exchange hugs with the host, now less dead-eyed than they’d seen her looking earlier. She’s clearly playing it up for the cameras. Clarke puts on her own tired smile.

Once they’re seated, gold medals shining around their necks, Ellen begins. 

“So your fans campaigned to get you on the show. It was trending on twitter and everything. It was a pretty huge deal.”

“Yeah, that was a shock to us,” Bellamy starts. “Neither of us are very active online, and so we didn’t realize just how dedicated our fanbase was to the cause of getting us here, but we appreciate all their effort.”

“We might be the only people left on earth without twitter accounts,” Clarke jokes. It’s always been simpler to deal with interviews by responding to Bellamy rather than the the actual questions. “I’ve been banned from googling myself for years, ever since the incident that put me out of the running for Vancouver in 2010. But it’s always nice to hear that people want us around.”

“We joked about starting a twitter campaign to get us Dancing with the Stars, but this is probably better. Lower risk, definitely. Plus we didn’t think anyone would actually be campaigning for us anyway.”

“The fans wanted you here, and we wanted you here also,” Ellen says. “You’re the first US ice dancing team to win gold at the Olympics, which is really exciting.”

“It’s so special to have the honor of being the first. Clarke and I spent the last four years really focused on what we could accomplish at Sochi, so it’s been immensely gratifying to see all that work come to fruition.”

It’s a sanitized answer — the kind that a casual viewer looking to hear an American success story would like. No mention of all the shitty things that happned just before and after their olympic win. But of course, they’re only sticking to the neat and orderly parts of the tale.

“And you two were paired up together as kids over fifteen years ago.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, keeping her eyes trained to the right of Ellen’s head. “We skated together as kids in Michigan before Bellamy moved. Back then our parents thought we be a pairs team, but we went our separate ways for a long time before finding each other again as ice dancers.”

“Childhood friends turned Olympians, and with all the chemistry you have. You know, a lot of people are saying that there’s more than just chemistry there — that you’re a couple.” She pauses while Clarke and Bellamy do their awkward little laughs. Since she can’t talk about the Olympic scandal, of course the interview would go this way. It’s obvious in retrospect. “That’s what they say. I think you’ve heard that before, a few times at least.”

A picture appears behind them from one of their sexier performances, and a _whoop_ noise comes from the audience upon seeing it. Clarke looks a little too much like she’s going to fuck Bellamy right on the ice in front of all the cameras.

Yeah, she can understand why people think they’re dating.

“So… I mean, are you a couple?” Ellen asks bluntly. 

Clarke takes one second to remember Octavia, young and sarcastic and full of promise, looking to go to expensive-ass colleges. That’s who she’s doing this for. Luckily these questions come up so often, though usually in a slightly more subtle manner, that she has the scripted answer down pat.

“We aren’t, but we are best friends,” Clarke says diplomatically. “It’s a compliment every time people ask us though, because that means we’re doing our jobs correctly. The storytelling and emotional aspects are so important to us, and the fact that people are clearly seeing those aspects of the performance means we’re doing something right.”

Bellamy nods, tacking on the other half of the answer. “We have such a strong, trusting partnership between us that it makes it really easy to slip into those roles. We spend so much of our lives together, both on and off the ice, that it would be impossible not to love each other and channel that into being the best that we can be while performing.”

That was a _little_ off script, she notices, but she refuses to question it. Of course they love each other. There’s no fact more obvious in the universe, even if it’ll just feed the conspiracy theories that they’re actually married with six kids and a minivan.

Ellen nods sagely. “So you’re dating.”

“If we were, then we would tell you first, Ellen.” Deflecting is one of her few interview talents.

Ellen looks at them in a jokingly suspicious way. “Okay, so you _aren’t_ dating. Definitely not at all. Not even a little bit. But we decided to test how well you platonically know each other even though you aren’t together in a game we call the Definitely Not Dating Game.”

They’re given little whiteboards to answer the questions with, and Ellen begins reading from her list.

“Clarke, what is Bellamy’s favorite tv show?”

They each scribble down answers before Clarke is asked to reveal what she said.

Flipping her board over, she reads: “Any history documentary that doesn’t mention aliens.”

“Bellamy?”

He smiles, revealing his answer as well. “History documentaries. I’ve made Clarke sit through enough of them.”

“But no aliens?” Ellen asks.

“Definitely no aliens,” he confirms.

“Yeah, Bellamy loves to rage about all alien-based historical hypotheses. It’s actually best to move on to the next question before you accidentally start a rant.”

“Alright, question two. Bellamy, if Clarke is getting ‘hangry’, what food should you give her?”

They write again before flipping their boards.

“Pizza, if Clarke is being honest. If she’s lying to herself, a smoothie with kale in it.”

Ellen makes a face before asking, “Alright, Clarke. Are you lying to yourself or being honest with your answer?”

She flips her board, _pizza_ written on it. “We have standing Friday night movie and pizza dates.”

Ellen gives an exaggeratedly put-upon look to the audience. “Sounds exactly like a not-dating activity.”

Clarke doesn’t bother to say that of course friends can eat pizza and watch movies together. It’s not like couples have a monopoly on that. It isn’t worth the energy to bring up, and the point of the segment is obviously to highlight the audience’s love for them as a potential couple.

“Clarke, what is Bellamy’s favorite skating routine that he’s performed?”

“This feels too easy,” she says as she writes. “But… _Notre Dame de Paris?_ If it’s good enough for Olympic gold…”

Bellamy turns his board around, showing _Tristan and Isolde_ in his neat handwriting. A buzzer sounds, indicating that they’ve failed the question.

“Really?” She asks, forgetting for a second that they’re on television. “That was our worst-scoring program.”

“Yeah, but it was the first one we skated together. The first time I knew we would win the Olympics together one day.”

The crowd _awwws_ at his words, and Ellen’s scarily manic eyes make her look like she’s ready to explode at the fact that they either really _aren’t_ together or that they refuse to admit the truth on her show.

Clarke smiles at him softly, matching the one already on his face.

“Okay.”

“Bellamy,” Ellen says, pulling their attention back to her. “What is Clarke’s go-to karaoke song?”

When they’ve finished jotting down their responses, he says, “Clarke doesn’t like to sing in public as a rule, so I doubt she’d ever do karaoke, but her favorite movie that she won’t admit she loves is Mamma Mia, so I picked ABBA’s _Gimme, Gimme.”_

Clarke blushes before flipping her board, bearing the words _something ABBA,_ which Ellen deems close enough to get the point.

“Now on to the final round, which we’ve reserved for intimate questions. Clarke, does Bellamy prefer boxers or briefs?”

For all that she hates doing these silly interviews, she knows how to play to a crowd, so she takes a long look at Bellamy as if she might somehow manage to see through his outerwear to get the answer. Finally, putting her marker to the whiteboard, she writes what she can only assume is the correct answer based on the many times they’ve changed in front of each other at events or during sleepovers.

“Boxer briefs,” she says. “Best of both worlds.”

“Yep, boxer briefs,” he confirms as he turns his own board over.

Ellen laughs. “Not suspicious at all to know the answer to that, Clarke.”

Clarke just shrugs in response. “Doesn’t seem suspicious to me.” The audience laughs.

“Final question. Bellamy, at your wedding, which of you will be drunker?”

“My wedding?” He asks, pointing a finger at his own chest.

“Yes, your wedding,” Ellen responds, moving her finger between the two of them.

“Are we having a double ceremony?” He asks jokingly.

“You’re going to marry _other people_ at your wedding to each other?” She asks, sounding teasingly outraged on their behalf.

He just laughs in response, as though the foregone conclusion that they will marry each other is something they hear every day.

She knows people say these things about them all the time, but no interviewer has ever had the gall to bring it up directly. She’s not sure if she should appreciate the frank candor of it all or if it’s just annoying.

“Answers?” Ellen prompts.

Bellamy flashes his board, Clarke’s name written across it. “Clarke has almost no alcohol tolerance, so no matter whose wedding we’re at, she’ll be drunker.”

“And Clarke?”

“Yeah, I’d definitely be worse off,” she confirms, showing her own name written on her board as well. She’s so focused on the wedding question that she hardly catches the rest of Ellen’s words.

“So it sounds like, with five out of six correct answers, you are _definitely not dating_ soulmates. And even though you’re not together, you should be.”

A few minutes later, after wrapping up the segment, they’re allowed to leave the soundstage for the refuge of the green room they had been stuck in earlier.

“So that wasn’t so bad,” Bellamy says. “In the grand scheme of things.”

“Definitely could’ve been worse. I’m used to everyone thinking you’re my better half.”

“Other way around, obviously.”

She rolls her eyes at his inability to accept the fact that he’s a catch. Everyone who has ever met him probably recognizes it as fact, but he always acts like it would be a hardship for a woman to date him. Like he isn’t _perfect._

* * *

The thing about retiring from skating is that, unless you’re really set on being done forever, you never truly quit. Sure, they aren’t competing anymore, but that doesn’t mean they actually stop skating.

Not when they’ve been contacted to join Stars on Ice, the touring show that includes the best non-competing skaters traveling around the country together doing performances for adoring audiences over the span of a few weeks.

Bellamy had been a bit worried about joining on to the tour, mainly for Agrippina’s sake, but ‘Aunt Octavia’ had been adamant that she could take care of the dog while he was away. And while this didn’t completely placate Bellamy’s worries (he was afraid that Octavia was secretly trying to train his sweet little puppy to be some kind of vicious attack dog), he was also happy to get back into skating after a few months off, so he accepted that some time away wouldn’t make his dog forget him entirely.

They start working through the programs they’ll perform as soon as they can, both feeling like a weight has been lifted off their shoulders after finally returning to the ice. 

For all that she’s hated what skating has done to her life, being back makes her feel like she can breath again for the first time in so long. This is where she and Bellamy have always belonged. The time away has only put that into perspective for her.

As two new additions to the show who are in high demand, they are allowed three solo songs along with the opening and closing numbers that are done by the whole cast. They will have to learn those later, but for now they have free rein on their three pieces. The organizers did request, though, that they use one of them to perform _Notre Dame de Paris,_ the show for which they have become well-known.

They decide that their other two songs will be _Knocking on Heaven’s Door_ and _Alors on danse,_ a combination that gives them a good mix of slow and fast music. _Alors_ is, in particular, a fun song to choreograph, allowing them to be a bit more irreverent, but _Knocking on Heaven’s Door_ has a beautiful sort of somberness to it. It’s exactly the kind of routine that Bellamy and Clarke are most adept at these days — tragic and lovely.

Weeks later, she and Bellamy leave for the first stop of the tour.

The first night of performing again is like magic, a balm to her soul. Being able to skate for the joy of it reminds her of why she wanted to continue after 2010 in the first place, and meeting the fans (even the _emphatic_ ones) helps her to realize just how much people appreciate her in the world.

It’s a little silly to be appreciated for skating of all things, but she’ll take it. Bellamy says she’s just being self-deprecating anyhow, because of course people enjoy seeing talented artists doing what they love.

“Oh my god,” a young woman says several stops into the tour. She’s probably nineteen or twenty, not much younger than Clarke. “Clarke, I can’t believe I’m meeting you.”

“Hey, it’s so nice to have you here,” she says, going in for the hug. She’s gotten better at meet and greets as the tour has progressed. “What’s your name?”

“Priya.”

“Well it’s great to meet you, Priya.”

Priya basically ignores Bellamy’s existence, so Clarke keeps talking with her, asking how she got into figure skating and if she skates herself.

“Honestly, I wasn’t a fan until recently. I didn’t really know anything about you or about ice dance until, uh… until that video was posted online.”

“That video?” Clarke asks. A split second later she realizes what video Priya is talking about.

“Yeah, sorry if this is weird. I’d never really been into sports or the Olympics until I saw that video. I was so—” she pauses, twisting her fingers into the hem of her shirt like she’s trying to keep her hands busy. “I was so impressed, seeing you stand up for a sexual assault survivor. The way you bodyslammed him into the ground, I— Well, it made me want to know more about you. So that’s how I became a fan.”

“Oh,” she says, not really sure how to reply.

“I went through something similar to Maya,” she continues. “So it was just nice to see you help her. It made me feel less alone.”

Clarke smiles at her softly. “I’m really glad, Priya. And I’m honored that you shared something so personal with me. It means a lot.”

“Can we take a photo together?”

“Of course.” 

They pose together for a series of selfies on Priya’s phone, and Bellamy eventually gets roped in to take a few for them from a distance.

Before Priya leaves the meet and greet, Clarke pulls her into another hug.

She hadn’t really considered this side of meeting fans. She hadn’t considered in the slightest that women might _look up to her_ for what she’d done. She’d spent so long feeling like a coward, and here people are thinking she’s brave.

“Of course you’re brave,” Bellamy says that night, wrapping an arm around her comfortingly. “You just don’t see yourself the way that everyone else does.”

“Pot meet kettle, I guess.”

The smile she gives him is warm.

That night she doesn’t even pretend to go to her own hotel room first. She climbs into his bed like she owns the place, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

* * *

When Stars on Ice US finishes, they decide to take a brief trip with the tour to participate in Stars on Ice Japan. Clarke’s been out of the country innumerable times for competitions, but this is the longest she’s ever spent consistently away from home. It’s nice, though, to be away from everything waiting for her in Portland. With Octavia sending them regular snapchats of the dog, she and Bellamy manage to make it through the whole stint of shows without getting too homesick.

By the time they make it home again, the year has turned again towards winter. Fifty-six more women have made claims against Cage Wallace. Many of them say that Dr. Lorelai Tsing, in her capacity as physician to many athletes, helped to provide Wallace with access to them.

Of course. Clarke remembers seeing Dr. Tsing after the Jasper incident. Cage had been insistent that she could check Clarke out instead of going to Nyko. Then, when they were finished testing for a concussion, Clarke had intended to go find Bellamy and Anya herself. It was Dr. Tsing who had told her to stay put while she instead went to find them. It gave Cage just enough time to make his pass at her.

Of course.

_Of course._

Seventy-one women and counting. Seventy-two if you count Clarke. She never does, never really thinks of herself as one of his victims, not when the stories coming out are so gruesome. But others might disagree if they knew.

She never talks about it, not with the news or lawyers or her parents or anyone. The only two people who know are Bellamy and her therapist. The only two people she trusts to keep it to themselves.

* * *

By the time Christmas rolls around, Bellamy and Agrippina have taken up semi-permanent residency in her little apartment. It makes her wonder, briefly, if she shouldn’t get a bigger place. She can afford it now, being an Olympian and all, but she also selfishly doesn’t want to get a guest bedroom. Not when she and Bellamy are so good with their platonic bedsharing situation.

Ellen would’ve loved to hear about that.

Bellamy spends the earliest hours of Christmas Day with his mom and Octavia, exchanging gifts under their tree, but as soon as they’re done he and Agrippina make their way over to her apartment.

“Merry Christmas!” He says, walking into the room using the key she’d made for him months ago.

“Hey,” she smiles. “Merry Christmas. How did Octavia like her gift?”

“She likes the idea of jiu-jitsu lessons for a year, though she did express disappointment that the gift wasn’t a dog of her own.”

She laughs. “But she already lives with the perfect dog.”

“Her words were, and I quote: ‘Agrippina is barely here now that you’ve basically moved in with Clarke.’”

She flushes. “Well, at least she’s got the jiu-jitsu to comfort her through these difficult, dogless times.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m sure she’ll manage.”

She leads him over to the little fake tree that sits in the corner of her living room. There aren’t many gifts under it — most of her presents were sent to people directly through Amazon. Her parents had decided to go on a cruise this year, and though they’d invited her to come, she’d declined. Raven and Murphy were celebrating in Seattle since she was stuck working on the 26th.

“Open your gifts,” she says, gesturing to the spread of prettily wrapped presents under the tree.

He looks over the tags. “These are all for me? You bought me—” he counts quickly— “ten gifts?”

“They aren’t really that exciting. The number is the most impressive part.”

He opens each gift one by one, uncovering a new book each time. She’d been very meticulous in her shopping, wanting to make sure she found books that would interest him but that he hadn’t already read.

It meant spending a _lot_ of time stalking his bookshelves and goodreads profile, but she thinks she more or less managed it.

Two books on the Philippines, one on Philippine mythology, one on the Hagia Sophia, a biography of Empress Catherine the Great, a new one on Scippio Africanus that was meant to change the way people understood the Punic War (whatever that meant), one on music as a form of resistance in Apartheid South Africa, two on the pirate queen of China Ching Shih, and one on Horatio Gates.

Horatio Gates was a last minute addition. Having a Horatio in the mix just seemed like a necessity at this point. 

Once all ten books are unwrapped, he casts his eyes over the pile before giving her a fond look.

“Is this your way of telling me that I spend too much time talking about 18th century pirate queens?”

“You talk about 18th century pirate queens an appropriate amount for someone at your level of nerd,” she says with a smile.

“How did you know the exact right books to buy? Especially considering how eclectic the subjects are.”

“I spend a lot of time with you, Bellamy. I’ve picked up on a few trends.”

He squeezes her ankle from his place on the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper. “Thanks, Clarke.”

“You’re welcome. There are some gifts for Agrippina under the tree too, but you’ll have to open them for her.”

Most of the presents for her are, of course, dog toys and treats, but the last gift Bellamy picks up is another book-shaped item.

“What, did you buy her a book of dog tricks? You know she can’t read, right?”

“Of course. But her nerd dad can read to her. Or just enjoy it in her honor.”

When he tears off the paper, there’s another biography, this time of Agrippina the Younger, Empress of Rome.

“I know you are already a fan of hers, but I thought Agrippina might like to learn more about her namesake. Also I skimmed parts of it before it got wrapped, and I like her a lot. There was a shocking amount of murder.”

“A normal amount of murder for the times, honestly. Thanks, Clarke. Really. These are the best.”

He rests his head back against her legs for a moment, and she absently pets his curls. It’s the most relaxing Christmas she can ever remember having.

(No offense to Abby Griffin, who Clarke is sometimes a bit too hard on, but her desire for the perfect family Christmas always ends up being more exhausting than exciting).

“Do you want to open your gift now?” Bellamy asks, looking up at her from his spot at her feet.

“Only if you’re offering.”

He smiles, pulling his backpack closer so he can take out a rectangular present wrapped in sparkly Rudolph paper.

“I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” she says with a laugh, kicking gently against his thigh.

When she pulls the paper off what is clearly a dvd case, she sees a picture that she hasn’t looked at in a few years now.

“A Walk to Remember?” She asks, a smile in her voice. “Do you want me to cry again?”

“Not necessarily. But I always think of you when that movie comes up.”

“How often are you talking about A Walk to Remember in the first place?” She laughs.

“More than you’d think,” is his slightly cryptic response. “And the copy we watched was rented anyhow, so I figured it was time you added it to your collection.”

“Anya made us watch this because I didn’t know how to have basic human emotions,” she laughs. “How far I’ve come. Thanks, Bell. It’ll always remind me of you too.”

He rests his chin just above her kneecap so he can look up at her. “You should open the case.”

“Oh?” She asks.

“Just a suggestion.”

“Well,” she says, pulling on one of his curls like they’re eight years old, “if you insist.”

When she opens the dvd case, there is a slip of paper sitting on top of the disc. In Bellamy’s uppercase writing are the words _IOU: one trip to Disneyland._

“What?” She asks, confused for a second. His gift is suddenly so much _bigger_ than hers was.

(Of course it is. It’s Bellamy — that’s exactly the kind of person he’s always been. He just wants to take care of everyone around him all the time, often to his own detriment.)

“We missed out on going to Russia’s first theme park. But Disney is only one very long roadtrip away, so I figured we could make up for it. I haven’t booked anything because I want you to have first choice of dates, but say the word and I’ll get us a hotel and tickets.”

“Bellamy, this is too much.”

He smiles up at her. “I disagree, but we can schedule a debate on the etiquette of gift giving for the day after we return from Disney.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, reaching forward to put her palm on his cheek. “But thank you. I love it.”

The happiness he radiates is enough to ensure that acquiescing was the right move. Bellamy will always love giving gifts more than receiving them.

* * *

That night, after a full afternoon of watching Christmas films on the couch, she is awoken from a light sleep by Bellamy leaning over her and shaking her shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers. “It’s late. Come to bed, Clarke.”

As he leads her through the apartment and into her bedroom — nearly _their_ bedroom at this point — to go to bed with him, she realizes the simplest truth of all.

She’s in love with Bellamy Blake. 

Maybe she has been this whole time.

When they climb into bed, she isn’t even shy about draping herself over him, cheek against his warm chest. She can feel the steady, calming beat of his heart.

She’s not certain that he loves her back, but she thinks he probably could.

“Merry Christmas, Clarke,” he says, contorting himself slightly in order to press a kiss to her forehead.

She closes her eyes at the contact, hand clenching in the fabric of his tshirt.

“Merry Christmas, Bellamy.”

* * *

A week later, when she presses her lips against his cheek as the clock strikes midnight, she knows it's the most meaningful kiss she's ever given someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, I really struggled with this chapter. It felt like it was easy to make the mess that was the Olympics, but it was a lot harder to clean up. Also, like Bellamy and Clarke, I worked a little better within the standard competition season — sure, it probably got boring to read about ANOTHER Four Continents, but at least I always knew where the year was heading! This was really different by comparison.
> 
> It's also sort of a filler chapter honestly, but next time we'll be wrapping things up more neatly (I hope).
> 
> The Ellen stuff was a blatant ripoff of Virtue and Moir's interview with her in 2018. I made changes obviously but the Definitely Not Dating Game is all them.
> 
> Agrippina is my favorite Roman empress, and I'm prepared to lead a one-woman charge to bring this name into the mainstream. When I name my dumbass baby Agrippina one day, you will all see.
> 
> For any eagle-eyed readers out there, you may notice an anachronism in this chapter. I have tried, over the last seven chapters, to be as meticulous as possible with only referencing things that fit whichever year we're in at the time, just because it would bother me otherwise. And while I'm sure I've made mistakes, I've put in a solid effort. But, just this once, I allowed myself to break the rules. Knocking on Heaven's Door, as far as Spotify is aware, came out in 2015. In mid-2014, they somehow manage to use it in Stars on Ice. It was worth the slight inaccuracy to make THAT one of their songs. Combining it with Alors just felt too good to pass up.
> 
> I'm not personally a big disney fan, but I think Clarke and Bellamy would have fun there after they got fucked over in Russia and couldn't go to their theme park.
> 
> Also I realized that I had marked this story as acceptable for general audiences, which is INCREDIBLY untrue considering all that has occurred in the last 65,000 words, so you'll see that the rating has bumped up considerably. That shouldn't be a surprise though. You saw what happened at the Olympics.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be real with y'all, this chapter was a doozy. It's not perfect by any means, but it did ultimately get me where I wanted to go. I'm going to miss this story a lot, but I'm also really glad to see it finished 80,000 words later. This was my very first attempt at writing fanfic, and it's been a huge learning process for me. There are definitely things that I would've done differently knowing what I know now, but it's been a fun journey with all of you, and I'm grateful you've been so kind with my first go-around.
> 
> This is the final chapter, and the story is complete from this point, but I am planning to write an epilogue (you'll see at the end that there is quite the opening for one, and I'm excited to do that after I take a short break from this story).
> 
> Thanks for hanging in there :)

**_2015_ **

**From: Clarke — I think I’m in love with Bellamy**

**From: Raven — damn who told you**

* * *

The weird thing about falling in love with Bellamy Blake is how nothing really changes in the aftermath.

Granted, she’s pretty sure that she has been more or less in love with him the whole time, which is probably a contributing factor. But the movies make it seem like she should run to him through a crowded airport — inconveniencing the many other people trying to get where they’re going — so she can profess her undying love after all the uncertainty.

And, for obvious reasons, that’s not what she does. Actually, she doesn’t do much of anything.

The trouble is, being in love with Bellamy is as easy as everything is with him. Easy, and simple, and _right._ It doesn’t take any effort or require any bold pronouncements. He smiles at her warmly in the mornings when they wake up, and she smiles back. The sun shines, the birds sing, and she goes on loving Bellamy Blake.

And that’s why it’s so easy not to mention it. Besides the sex that they _definitely aren’t having,_ she knows that she already has every other piece of him. He’s already given her his laughter, his comfort, his smiles, his time.

His heart too, if she’s being honest with herself.

Every day that he spends with her — every time he comforts her or rests his head in her lap or reads an article from the Guardian about (of all things) _the discovery of some old English king under a parking lot_ out loud to her — she grows a little more certain that she’s had his heart for a long time.

And when she smiles at him or runs her fingers through his curls or lets him wax poetic about the power dynamics in Rome during the height of the empire, well… she’s pretty sure he knows he has hers in return.

And that feels exactly right.

* * *

When it’s all said and done, eighty-six women come forward with charges against Cage Wallace and Dr. Tsing. 

Maya was number one. Clarke was number eighty-six.

Bellamy had held her hand when she finally decided to go make her own statement against him, detailing what had happened to her that day at training, and again at the Olympics.

In the end, the amount of evidence against him piles up until it’s too damning to fight. He and his lawyers decide to enter a guilty plea when they realize there is nothing they can do to challenge the case.

There is no trial — just a sentencing hearing during which the judge allows all of the women he hurt to address him.

A few of the cases, like Clarke’s, were mild. Something a person might almost forget with the passing of enough time. Something that a man like Cage Wallace could more than get away with, no matter who came forward.

Most of the stories, though, are horrendous. She sits through each day of the prolonged sentencing hearing with her hand in Bellamy’s larger one, listening to the terrible things that Cage had done right under everyone’s noses.

She’ll never be able to forget those stories, or the faces of the women who finally have finally been given the chance to fight back against him.

Cage is sentenced to a maximum of 125 years in prison.

His face upon hearing the sentence is the one memory she unabashedly enjoys holding on to from that day. Bellamy squeezes her fingers reassuringly as the judge lays into Cage for his actions, and the smile Clarke gives Bellamy in return is small but genuine.

Nothing about her life in the aftermath of the trial is remarkably different, but she _feels_ different — freer, less afraid that she’s failed people. Justice doesn’t wipe away the stain of what he’s done, but at least those affected have finally been listened to, finally been shown respect for what they’ve survived. 

She starts to feel hopeful again — hopeful that things in her life will eventually feel simple. It doesn’t happen all at once, but every day is a little bit brighter.

And it also makes things clear to her. No matter what terrible things she goes through in life, she wants to have Bellamy beside her to lean on.

* * *

At the end of April, she and Bellamy pack up for their post-Christmas Disney trip.

“How long is the drive again?” Clarke asks, thinking of all the food she needs to buy before they leave in the morning, wanting to have a fully-stocked car. Road trips are for snacking, after all.

“About fifteen hours, I think.”

“I can’t believe I thought we would survive fifteen hours together in a confined space.”

“We could go all out and turn it into a nice forty-five hour trip to Disney World in Florida instead. Really let the madness set in. We could livestream it.”

“Forty-five hours? I don’t love literally anything that much, not even children’s amusement parks.”

“Forty-five hours _one way._ We’d need to drive the car back, too.”

“No. Not possible. I’d pay to have it shipped back and fly home without you.”

He frowns playfully. “You’re gonna leave me in Florida?”

“Some well-meaning family would probably take one look at your sad little face and you’d end up adopted.”

“At twenty-six?” He asks incredulously.

“You don’t think some cute old couple there with their grandkids would see the handsome young man looking all sad and alone and decide to bring you home to fatten you up?”

“Do I get murdered at the end of the story?”

“I was thinking more _stray puppy_ and less _Hansel and Grettel_ honestly.”

“All I’m saying is you can’t leave me in Florida unless you want me to get murdered. If you can live with that on your conscience, then go ahead.”

She smiles, batting at his shoulder lightly as she tosses another pair of shorts into her suitcase. Anaheim’s spring weather will be a great improvement on the constant rain of Portland.

“Well luckily for you we aren’t going to Florida, so I’ll have to save that plan for another time. I can handle fifteen hours in the car with you. Probably.”

“And fifteen hours back,” he adds with a little too much cheer.

“Just keep telling yourself that,” she murmurs. Then, “Here — pack this shirt in your bag when you get home. It’s my favorite.”

He takes the blue shirt from her, almost confused by it’s presence here rather than in his closet. “I always forget how much of my clothing has migrated over here.”

“You had that one on a few days ago, when you spent the night. It’s fine, though — I washed it with my stuff. Check your drawer to see if there’s anything else you want to take with you.”

He laughs, pulling out the bottom drawer of her dresser, which very unceremoniously became the place that his clothing appears after sleepovers. There is a little bit of everything, including his pajama pants and comfortable sleep shirts.

Or there _had been_ comfortable sleep shirts there, though most of them had recently and mysteriously ended up in Clarke’s own pajama drawer, after which she started stealing them to wear to bed herself.

(She figured it was okay morally since Bellamy had mentioned once that he liked sleeping shirtless. If she _also_ happened to like it when he slept shirtless, then that just meant it was a net-positive all around. A real win-win scenario, which was ethically sound.)

“Are you bringing any books?” She asks, rifling through her closet to find her most comfortable sandals.

“Just one, I think. I don’t imagine I’ll be spending much of the trip reading. Still, I always feel weird _not_ having a book with me.”

“I want to bring one, too. Can I steal something from your bookshelf later?”

“Of course. Is there anything else you need here before we leave?” He asks, looking around her room. It’s a little messier than usual, things taken out and discarded when she realized she wouldn’t need them, but her bag is packed to a meticulous standard. Everything is perfectly rolled or folded, outfits already grouped together for ease.

“I think I’m good,” she replies, tucking her chargers and electronics into her purse so she won’t forget them.

They run to the store first, raiding it for all kinds of road trip snacks so they can make the most of the long drive. After checking out, they drive to Bellamy’s, where they’ll spend the night before an early start in the morning.

Before bed, she goes into his closet and steals another of his shirts to sleep in and a tank top she’d left there weeks before, both getting packed away in her bag. She also grabs a book from his shelf and carefully removes the dust jacket in order to add it to the rest of her things.

In the morning, long before the rest of his family is awake, they say a sleepy goodbye to Agrippina, who looks decidedly less puppy-like now that she’s a little over a year old.

They switch off driving every few hours, listening to spotify playlists and playing I Spy. Then, just outside of Sacramento, she looks over to Bellamy from her place behind the wheel, and asks, “Will you read to me?”

“Read to you?” His voice is quiet, clearly surprised at the request.

“Yes. I put your book in my bag,” she says, gesturing to her open tote sitting on the seat behind them. 

He reaches in, pulling out, of all things, the book she gave him on Agrippina the Younger.

“You want to read this?”

“I told you I skimmed parts of it before Christmas. Now I want to start at the beginning. Do you mind? I know it might’ve been easier just to buy the audiobook…” she says, trailing off awkwardly.

“No! No, of course I don’t mind.” He opens the book up to the first chapter, starting with Agrippina’s early life as the child of Germanicus and Agrippina the Elder in what is now modern day Germany. His reading voice is soft, and a smile lingers on his face with every page-turn.

She feels warmer with each passing minute, and it probably has very little to do with their car travelling south. When they switch off a little while later so that he can drive again, she takes the book, picking up reading where he left off. He doesn’t even complain that he’s read it before; he simply lets her continue the story for the both of them.

When they get to their hotel late that evening, the passenger side reading light has been turned on for hours and they are well into Agrippina’s marriage to Emperor Claudius.

Disembarking from the car, they check in and head up to their room so they can sleep. 

Bellamy had allowed Clarke to book their hotel room. And if the room only has one king sized bed — well, that’s hardly her fault. It’s just what she’s used to now.

Bellamy doesn’t comment on the room situation when they arrive, too busy getting their bags sorted to question it. But he does smile that night when they climb under the covers, so she assumes he isn’t mad about it.

  
  


The next morning, they make their way to Disneyland. For all that Clarke was spoiled by comparison to many other kids growing up, she also lived a remarkably one-track life, spending all of her time dedicated to skating. As a result, her parents never bothered taking her to theme parks like Disney, and she’d aged out of the films younger than most children. Still, it’s exciting to be in a fantasy place for a little while. Even the air smells sweet and inviting.

For all that Bellamy is sometimes a grumpy old man, he clearly loves the magic. He and his sister had visited once. Their mother, Clarke knows, struggled a lot more than her own family did to pay the crazy expenses involved in her son’s figure skating, and they’d only managed to get by during the earliest years.

So when Bellamy started getting proper sponsorship deals around the time of the 2010 Olympics, the first extravagant thing he’d done was pay to bring his family to Disney. Octavia had still been young enough at the time to be fully immersed in the experience, and it was one of their fondest memories as a family.

So, in true Bellamy fashion, he is eager to ride all the best rides and eat as often as they can manage. As her belated Christmas gift, he tries to convince Clarke to get whatever she wants, and though she has fun exploring the massive Emporium on Main Street, she does try to keep him from buying everything that catches her eye for more than two seconds.

“Okay, but you have to let me buy this, _Princess,”_ he says, holding up his spoils.

“I’ll permit it as my allotted one souvenir from you on this trip. Anything else I’ll buy myself since you’ve already spent the GDP of a small nation on this gift.”

She allows him to purchase the crown that is clearly meant for little girls. When he’s paid the (frankly horrifying) amount for it at the checkout, she allows him to dramatically crown her in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle. A staff member with a camera around her neck takes a picture of them, and Bellamy speaks with her after to figure out how they can download it later.

Bellamy’s favorite rides are the ones that take them through the plots of movies, and Clarke loves the roller coasters, so they slowly make their way through each segment of the park to do a little bit of everything.

She pokes him while they’re on It’s A Small World.

“It’s just like the Parade of Nations.”

“Only a little more grating than that was, to be fair. At least the Olympics played decent music.”

“I don’t know. We had to wear those ugly Polo Christmas sweaters all evening while we waited. Plus this ride only takes a few minutes.”

He laughs as they pass a few dolls dressed like British guards.

“More like fifteen minutes, Princess.”

Her eyes go wide. “This ride is _fifteen minutes?_ I thought we were almost done. Fu—” she starts, before seeing the kids in the row ahead of them in their boat, “—udge.” 

He just pats her hand consolingly. “It’ll be over eventually. And then you’ll just have to try to get the song out of your head.”

She groans at the thought.

* * *

It is not over quickly. They break down midway through the ride and are made to wait for an extra twenty minutes while they carry out repairs.

* * *

They stay late into the night, wanting to see the fireworks. They’ll be back the next day to leisurely do the parts of the park they’d missed and meet a few actual princesses, but they decide to stay until closing anyhow. The evening air is too nice to head back early.

When they finally manage to make it to their hotel room, Clarke flops down on the freshly made duvet. After a long day of walking and lines, she’s glad to be off her feet.

“I’ll take first shower?” Bellamy asks with a laugh.

“All yours. I’m never getting up again.”

“Whatever you say.” 

He places a kiss on her forehead before leaving for the bathroom, simple and sweet.

Only it’s _not simple_ to her. Or maybe it’s too simple — too easy. Why aren’t they kissing all the time? Why is she wasting time not getting forehead kisses every day of her life if the option to have them is available?

What are they waiting for?

The romantic part of her brain wants to strip down immediately and climb into the shower with him. It’s pretty difficult to misconstrue that.

But she’s a huge coward, so she’s not going to do it.

Instead, like always, she waits. It almost has her rolling her eyes — she’s so afraid to do something even though she all but knows that he feels the same.

But she _can’t_ mess this up. Bellamy is the most important person in her life, and losing him would be far worse than never truly having him. So if she’s going to try something, it needs to be low-stakes enough that they can bounce back if she’s somehow misread every possible sign.

Because, in fairness, she’s pretty famously done that in the past.

After they’ve both showered and climbed under the covers, she stares at him across the pillow. Though the bed is a king, they’re so used to sharing his double that there's barely an inch of space between them.

“Hey, Bell?” She whispers. She’s laying on her side, facing him in the dark.

“Yeah, Nuisance?”

She laughs, affection brimming up inside her at the nickname. “You haven’t called me that in probably five years.”

“I’m all princessed out. Here you’re just one of many. It’s more special to have you as my nuisance.”

“It’s a real honor,” she says, rolling her eyes.

She can see the white of his smile in the dim room. “What did you want to ask?”

Across the pillow, his eyes are wide, focused solely on her. She is always the center of his attention. 

She aches to stretch her neck forward just the littlest bit so she can kiss him. Her lips tingle at the thought, so desperate to have more of him, to know what he tastes like. She clenches her hands into fists where they rest by her face, trying to stop herself from reaching out.

She has to say something though. There is no possible way to contain this need anymore, and why should she? They’ve both been drifting closer to a relationship over the last few months, and it’s almost impossible that she’s misunderstood things so badly that this is somehow all completely platonic. 

She can barely fathom getting the words out, but she tries anyway, hoping they’ll unstick in her throat. “Do you ever—”

Then, like the _fucking chicken_ she is, she redirects at the last second.

“Do you ever think about skating again?”

It’s not what she’d been planning to ask, although she doesn’t realize that it was something that she had been wondering about until the question is already hanging between them.

He gives her a funny look, and she can’t help but wonder if it’s disappointment. Maybe he thought this question would lead where it had been meant to go originally.

Or, more likely, he’s just surprised that this is on her mind when they’re so far from Portland and the skating part of their lives.

“Clarke, we have rehearsals for Stars on Ice as soon as we get back. We’ll be on the road for the tour in a month.”

“Thanks, smartass. I meant — do you ever think about going back into competition?”

He pauses for a second, thinking over the unexpected question. “Sometimes, I guess.” He squints, like he’s trying to see a future for them through the fog. “Only if you wanted to. It’s a lot to commit to, especially now that we’ve had a year of freedom.”

“Not this season definitely. But next year, maybe. I think I’d like to try again.”

“Really?” He asks, smile already on his face.

“Yeah. I think… I’m more settled now, you know? And the trial is over, which helps. It was nice to be done for a little while, but I don’t think I’m ready to be done for good. I miss the stress.”

“I miss the stress too. We were always good at being under pressure.”

“So next year? Back to competition?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think we can manage that.”

And she’s excited by this development, which is unexpected. She didn’t think she’d want to go back into competition so soon — or ever — but this feels right.

It doesn’t stop her from kicking herself, though. She had the perfect opportunity to tell him how she’s felt for so long now, and she completely wasted it. They’re in the happiest place on earth and she can’t find the courage to be honest.

The rest of the trip is filled with laughter and smiles, but no confessions. They take so many pictures that she worries she might actually have to start organizing her camera roll if she ever plans to see anything from before this week again.

She sets the picture of her and Bellamy with Rapunzel and Flynn Rider as her lock screen.

The entire ride home, she struggles not to hum _It’s a Small World._

* * *

When they get back to Portland, rehearsal for Stars on Ice starts immediately. They’ll have a new set of songs this year, though strangely enough they were asked to keep _Notre Dame de Paris_ as one of their selections. 

She’d assumed that everyone would be tired of it, but it’s become their staple. Everyone who attends expects to see the Olympic gold-winning performance, and though it was simplified slightly for last year’s tour, it’s still by and large the same show.

They add to that two other pieces, including one by up-and-coming singer Macallan Mendes. It’s a fun show, if nothing particularly special. Still, it’ll be nice to feel busy for a few weeks while they’re away.

One evening, after they’ve finished practicing for the day, she goes home to her apartment — empty, this once, of Bellamy and Agrippina — and a bottle of wine.

On her second glass, the reality tv show she’s only been marginally paying attention to becomes unbearably annoying, so she turns it off to focus on her phone. Sometimes, when she’s bored enough, she will _very innocently_ check twitter to see what people are saying about them. She’s always known that they had a strong fanbase, partly enamored by the perceived romance and partly by the actual skating. 

She tries not to look often, but every now and then — usually when she’s drinking alone, actually — she can’t help but slip up. In the past it was weird to look because she didn’t like to think about their obsession with her dating life. Now she doesn’t like to look because it reminds her that they _aren’t_ dating, even if they should be.

The first few tweets are innocuous — mostly people who are excited for the tour to start up in a week’s time. A lot of people are already stressed about their meet and greets which makes her laugh. She’s hardly an intimidating person to talk to. There’s a good chance that for however awkward they will be, she’ll be worse.

After a bit of scrolling, she sees something different.

 **Seeing bellarke in FIFTEEN DAYS** _@bellarkeorbust_

New chapter is up! No Archive Warnings Apply, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Slow Burn, Skating RPF, set after Worlds 2013, Eventual Smut, Words: 89,048, Chapters: 21/?

There’s a link, and Clarke is just drunk enough to click it. As the page loads, she downs the rest of her glass, needing all the help she can get.

_Clarke and Bellamy skated off the ice after being awarded their gold medals. It was the first time as a team that they’d ever won first place at Worlds, and they were feeling the euphoria of their victory._

_Clarke pulled her skates off as soon as she was away from the press, looking over to Bellamy with a hungry expression. The brown-eyed skater gazed back at her, eager to be back in their hotel room._

_“I can’t believe we did it,” he whispered, still in shock._

_“Me neither. I guess third time’s the charm.” She tries to act normally, but she can’t pull her eyes away from his lips._

_“Not here,” he says, looking around the deserted locker room._

_“Who is going to see us here? Please, Bell? I just want to kiss you.”_

_His eyes go soft at the longing in her voice, and after another glance around the space to make sure they’re truly alone, he leans in. The kiss is slow and sweet at first, but before long it heats up, her hands tracing his body over the tight lycra of his costume. Their tongues battle until she concedes, letting him devour her._

_“We definitely can’t do_ that _here,” he says brokenly, pausing only a moment before his lips move to her neck. Dispite his words, the way he sucks on her skin makes Clarke think that she could easily convince him otherwise._

_“Why?” She asks. “I’m so good at getting you out of this costume, after all.”_

_She smirks at the need in his expression when he hears those words._

_“Clarke,” he groans, trying to hold on to the thread of sanity remaining._

_“Come on, Bell. Just this once, we can be a little reckless. No one has ever caught us before.”_

_“That’s because we’re usually more careful.”_

_Her hand runs down his chest before palming his_

Clarke throws her phone down in shock. Did people really write about her and Bellamy _having sex?_ In locker rooms after competitions like they’re so horny they can’t even wait?

And yeah, there’s something in that idea that might sound the _tiniest bit_ appealing, but that’s really just for her to think about! Other people don’t need to be reading about Fake Clarke getting so turned on that she attacks Fake Bellamy until he caves.

When she picks the phone up again — carefully, like it might bite her — she sees that the story has 648 comments. Looking through them, it seems they’re all overwhelmingly positive.

Because she’s also a masochist, she clicks on the “Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin” tag at the top, assuming it’ll take her to other stories with the same relationship pairing.

It only takes a second to realize that it was a mistake. There are hundreds of stories about them. Some are about their childhood, some mentioning the ‘friends to lovers trope’ which seems to be an obvious favorite. Others are weirder.

Like, a lot weirder. Soulmate stories where Clarke has a snowflake tattoo and has to find her perfect match with the same mark. Some where they’re in the mafia, or they own a flower shop, or they’re in college together as horny young adults.

Some have descriptions so graphic that she’s actually afraid to look. Even after some light poking around, she still doesn’t understand what a/b/o means, and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to. At all.

Seriously. 

She closes the tab, trying to erase the whole thing from her mind.

But when she climbs into bed alone, she can’t help but think of that first story. Can’t stop thinking about kissing Bellamy, and touching Bellamy, and everything that would come after.

It might be embarrassing that people are out there writing this stuff about her, but that doesn’t change the fact that she is getting increasingly desperate for _something._ Ideally something real, rather than fictional stories about her on the internet. And yet, horrifying invasiveness aside, the thoughts that those stories have put into her head have her rubbing her thighs together.

She closes her eyes and tries to forget it.

Unsuccessfully.

* * *

During their second to last rehearsal before they have to leave for the tour, they run their program of songs a few times, wanting to make sure they have them down. None of them are very hard — they’re crowd-pleasers, and they don’t include difficult technical elements. Judges want perfection, but audiences just want to see something that moves them. 

Their new pieces are nothing revolutionary; it’s the kind of stuff they’ve been doing in gala shows for years. And _Notre Dame_ is second nature at this point. Even with the changes they’ve made to it since leaving competition, there’s a sweet familiarity to it. It’s still the piece that gave her — for just a moment — the greatest high on earth.

They run it a final few times that evening, not really needing the practice but just enjoying being back. And then Bellamy smiles at her during a water break, innocently tugging on a curl, and she’s just not sure she can take it anymore.

When the music starts up again, they go through the dance, hitting each mark with an easy fluidity. She would trust Bellamy enough in this choreography to do it with her eyes closed, knowing that he would lead her through to the ending without fault.

They exit a lift, her skates daintily meeting the ice again as if there was no effort required in it at all. Like Bellamy hasn’t had to spend years in conditioning to make that kind of move possible. It’s amazing how he can so easily manhandle her in the most artistically lovely ways.

And she’s never really given it much thought before — on account of always being around partners who can lift her up and throw her across the ice — but there’s something really attractive about doing it with Bellamy. The way his arm muscles look when she’s in the air, spinning around and relying on him to get down safely.

It’s a good thing she knows this choreography so well, or these thoughts would’ve been enough to put her flat on her ass after a misstep.

Bellamy leans in for the almost-kiss, the longing in his eyes so real that she can hardly believe it’s acting.

And she finally breaks.

Still gliding across the ice together, she buries her fingers in his hair and finally pulls his lips to hers.

His skates stop short, and they only narrowly avoid tumbling over each other into a heap.

“Wha—?” He asks, but he’s kissing her back eagerly, the word only sneaking out between the motions of their lips. She would’ve probably panicked if his response wasn’t so immediate. Like they’d always been kissing, and this was the thousandth in a long line spanning both directions.

One of his hands settles on her hip, the other moving slowly up her back before stopping at the nape of her neck, drawing her in ever closer. His body is warm in the chill air of the rink, and she can’t help but try to squeeze herself as close to him as possible. His arms flex around her, holding her tighter.

She considers tipping them both over — it’s not _strictly speaking_ what their training in the art of falling on the ice was for, but it seems to be the best possible use for it — but before she can do anything, he’s grabbing the backs of her thighs to lift her up. Her legs tangle around him automatically, like this is a lift they’ve been practicing in the routine for years. The song keeps playing, but his mouth never leaves hers as her skates them into the boards around the rink.

“Is this—?” he starts, his hand coming to cup her cheek. His movements are so gentle — careful, like he’s afraid one wrong move might break the illusion.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Her voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

He drops his forehead to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, a relieved laugh escaping him. “You have no idea, Clarke.”

She drags her fingers through his curls, letting her short nails scrape along his scalp. The feeling makes him hum into her skin.

“Tell me,” she prompts, but he just shakes his head, forehead still buried in her neck so he can hide behind her hair. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

He side-steps the question with one of his own. “When did you decide to do this?”

“Kiss you?” She asks. At his nod, she just laughs. “I decided to kiss you about one second before I did it, if that wasn’t obvious. I doubt you’d think this was a well thought out plan. But I’ve _wanted_ to kiss you for a while.”

He lifts his head up, smiling at her brightly. “How long’s a while?”

“Consciously since Christmas. Before that, it was an unconscious but still very real, lingering desire that I wasn’t willing to admit to.”

He leans in to kiss her again. It’s short and sweet — the kind of kiss you give when you feel sure that there will be many more happy kisses to come.

“I have you beat by about four or five years.”

“Yeah, I sort of figured.” She tips her head up, kissing along his cheekbone lightly.

“What do you mean _you figured?”_

“Not back then!” She laughs, warmth filling her stomach. “God, I was a huge idiot then. But since the Olympics… we’ve been so bad at _not_ being…” She pauses, a blush rising to her cheeks. She trusts Bellamy more than anyone else, but it still makes her feel frighteningly exposed to voice the exact words she wants so desperately to say. She pushes on anyway, keeping her gaze on his cheek so she doesn’t have to look into his eyes. “We’ve been so bad at not being in love.”

His whole face melts a little at the words. “We’re _awful_ at not being in love,” he says. Probably to reassure her that she didn’t put her foot in her mouth.

The pit in her stomach unravels, and she smiles again. “It’s embarrassing that it took this long, honestly.”

He squints at her. “It took you almost a year after the Olympics to even admit it to yourself, and we shared a bed practically every night. Octavia is still confused when I do manage come home in the evenings because it’s so rare that she’s convinced I’ve moved out and just won’t admit it.”

“Yeah, because — again, I’m an idiot. It probably should’ve been obvious when we _platonically_ cuddled all the time, but I was figuring it out.”

“Glad you got there eventually.”

“I almost brought it up in Disney, and then I panicked and changed the subject to competing again.”

He squints at her. “Do you still want to compete again then? Or was that just a diversion tactic?”

She brushes his hair back, looking into the warmth of his eyes. “I really do want to try again if you do. I didn’t know until I said it out loud though. I think we could try for the Olympics one more time before we retire for good.”

“I think we have a shot,” he nuzzles against her. “But we can talk about that later. _Much_ later, ideally.”

“You’re right.” She pulls him back to her lips, letting them brush together so softly that she’s aching. “You still have to tell me when you realized, even if it was four or five years ago.”

“I don’t think there was one moment — just a lot of little things. Laughing with you in acting classes while we tried to learn to have chemistry. How you cried watching _A Walk to Remember_ because you’d never bothered to watch sad movies prior to that. Our first Worlds, when you were sure we could take silver. I was so angry at Lexa when she slipped you that note, and I didn’t want to admit to myself why that was.”

“You were jealous,” she teases, letting her lips move up to press a small kiss to the tip of his nose. “That’s so cute.”

“In the early days, I hated when reporters asked us about our relationship, because you would always shut them down so quickly. I didn’t want to think about why that always ate away at me, but it did. At least by the time I sorted my feelings out, I was used to the question, and I knew my lines.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he laughs. “I could’ve just told you if I wasn’t being so tortured about it. And I’ve always loved being your best friend, so it wasn’t like anything was _wrong._ I just hoped that eventually things would fall into place for us.”

“It took a little while, but we figured it out.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, cupping both her cheeks to pull her in for a soft, slow kiss. “I’ve never been so grateful that you live in spitting distance of the rink.”

She laughs, mirth bubbling up in her until it spills out. “So is practice canceled for the rest of the evening?”

“I think tomorrow is canceled too.” He lifts her again, skating off the ice and onto the mats. They take their skates off as quickly as they can before grabbing their things to make a hasty retreat, hand in hand. She’s glad the rink was empty this late in the day, because they don’t even try to keep things lowkey.

As soon as they’re in her apartment and through her door, her back is pressed up against it. His kisses are ravenous — desperate to be soothed by the affections he’s been craving for years.

They fall into bed as easily as they have every other night, only this time it involves pulling their clothing off in a blur, hands everywhere as they take each other in — savoring a moment that is only theirs.

Later, when they’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her head pillowed on his naked chest, she traces her fingers along his skin. She feels sated for the first time in so long, warm and _happy._ Not that she ever wants the fans to know this, but the fanfictions couldn’t hold a candle to the real Bellamy Blake.

“I love you,” she says, looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

There’s a feeling of victory in her words that curls around her comfortingly. She had always been so closed off to love in the beginning — only with people like Finn for the convenience. Anya had been forced to go through painstaking measures to make Clarke understand even the simulation of love when she was a teenager. 

Then, she fell in love with Lexa, but she hadn’t been the first to say it. She’d waited, not wanting to put herself out there if the feelings hadn’t been reciprocated.

Even then, it still ended in disaster. Lexa had understood _love_ to be a fun little benefit in her plan to maintain gold. It was never the most important thing to her, and it had broken Clarke when she discovered the truth. She had been so afraid to be vulnerable and give herself to someone, and when she did, it had blown up spectacularly. 

Now, with Bellamy, she’s so sure. Sure that he’s her future, sure that he is the person she wants as her partner in everything.

And it’s not like she doesn’t _know_ he loves her back. They’d basically admitted it earlier, though neither had actually said it outright. Still, she feels a strange sense of pride at being the one to say it first, like she’s found someone who she loves more than she’s afraid to love. 

She smiles contentedly once the words are out. She can’t take them back, and she doesn’t want to. Loving Bellamy is exactly right — like watching the world come into focus around her after spending so long living among the blurs. They were meant to be together eventually; it was just a matter of timing.

He smiles down at her, hand running up and down her bare spine. She can read in his expression just how awed he is, like he can’t fathom how they ended up in this bed together on an otherwise normal day. Five years of friendship turned on its head so suddenly, no matter how long-overdue it is, feels overwhelming.

She kisses his chest, radiant in the face of his obvious affection. It brims over, impossible to contain now that they’ve opened the floodgates.

“I love you too,” he whispers, eyes locked on hers. There’s a sheen to them that makes her skin tingle.

“And I think,” she starts, letting her hand trace along his side, “that when we get back from Stars on Ice, you and Agrippina should stay for the night. And then maybe just keep staying.”

His hand stills on her back, moving to wrap around her waist to pull her as close as possible.

“Yeah, I could do that.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling wide.

“Okay,” he repeats. Then, with a laugh, he asks, “How much of this is just because you love my dog?”

“Only, like, ten percent. If all I wanted was the dog, I’d just steal her from you. It would be so easy — she adores me.”

“Because you keep sneaking her treats, you traitor. I’m gonna have to cart her around in a wagon if you keep spoiling her.”

She shrugs. “I just want her to know who her favorite is.”

“Can’t believe I don’t even officially live here yet and you’re already planning to gang up on me.”

She pats his chest lightly. “You make it so easy.”

He frowns, but his happiness is impossible to miss, shining undeniably from every part of him.

“You’re forgetting I have a new counter-move available. I’m gonna start withholding kisses when you tease me.”

She smirks. “Aw, baby, you’d regret that so quickly.”

He pouts until she stretches it up, wiping it away with the touch of her lips to his. Brushing his curls back from his forehead, she smiles down at him.

Bellamy is going to be so easy to please — all he really wants is to be able to hold her and kiss her and _love her,_ and she’s more than happy to give him those things in spades.

Plus, he’ll wrap himself around her little finger before she even has the chance to stop him.

(Realistically, he probably already has.)

Later that night, after a quick dinner in bed and another round of sex, she’s scrolling through her phone to reply to a few texts from Raven that have gone unanswered and check her email when he catches sight of the tab she has open on the internet.

She’s opened and closed the fanfiction tab so many times that she’s actually embarrassed about it. Every time she says she’s done peeking, she can’t help but look again. Her self control is as bad as everyone said it would be if she allowed herself to glimpse the internet abyss.

He laughs when he realizes what it is, the shocked sound loud in the otherwise silent room.

“Clarke? What have you gotten yourself _into?”_ He asks, reaching for the phone to see more. She’s blushing, but she lets him take it anyway. It’s harmless, if a little silly.

“I was drinking a few nights ago and stumbled upon people writing about us. It’s horrifying, but I can’t stop searching for it now.”

“Trying to get inspiration for your big love confession?” He teases.

She buries her face in his shoulder, blush traveling further down her chest.

“In fairness, a lot of the stories assumed we were together the whole time, so they weren’t doing the whole _big love confession_ thing. Not a lot of room to steal people’s ideas.”

“Truly tragic. That’s okay, I think you did a good job all on your own.”

“People are going to get so much weirder when they know we’re actually together.”

“So? We don’t really have to tell them if we don’t want to. They’ve been speculating for years — they can just keep doing what they’re best at. It’s probably more fun that way anyhow. Once it’s confirmed, the game is over.”

“So we just keep it to ourselves? That might be nice. For a little while, at least. It would be weird to have people butting in so early on, especially with the tour starting.” Then a thought hits her. “Can I still tell Raven? Because I already texted her.”

“Of course,” he laughs, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Octavia is going to know that something happened as soon as I walk in the door tomorrow to pack for the tour. It would be impossible to hide it from her, and I’m pretty sure your parents and Raven have been making bets about us for a few years now.”

Her nose scrunches up. “Really? That’s a little invasive. It’s hardly their business.”

“I’d be more annoyed if I didn’t secretly love that they’ve been in my corner this whole time. They probably deserve to know who won the bet after all these years.”

“How do you even know about it?”

“I don’t, officially. But Raven always drops hints to you, and even when you’re not picking up on them, I am. It’s the side effect of being a little bit in love with you all these years. I’ve paid attention.”

“I always just thought they were betting on our scores as a way to make it less boring to watch the same handful of competitions every year. Has everyone been in on this?”

“Literally everyone. Anya thought we started dating ages ago. She thinks I’m lying to her when I say we aren’t.”

“Weren’t,” she corrects automatically.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Weren’t.”

They talk late into the night, wrapped around each other as closely as possible.

Finally, as they’re just drifting off while the early morning light peeks over the horizon, he murmurs low in her ear. “It was on your couch,” he says, no context provided.

“What was?” She blinks her eyes open, feeling heavy with exhaustion after their day.

“When I realized for certain that I was in love with you. After our first Worlds; after getting jealous for reasons I couldn’t explain. We were eating pizza and watching Project Runway. You were laughing at the ridiculous outfit someone made, and I looked over at you and I knew. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way, but it was the first time I could name the feeling.”

She tightens her arm around his torso, wishing she could find a way to be even closer. 

“The first time I named the feeling was… huh, strangely also on my couch,” she realizes. “I fell asleep, and you shook me awake and told me to come to bed. And we’d been sharing the bed for so long that it shouldn’t have been a surprise. It _wasn’t,_ really. It was just how you said it. _Come to bed._ So simple and domestic, like we’d been living together for years and this was our routine. Like I always fell asleep at the end of a movie and you always had to wake me up, helping me to our bedroom. It was easy to be sure I was in love because I was already in the middle of our life together. It was impossible to miss once I was staring it in the face.”

His fingertip runs down her cheek before his palm molds itself around her jaw.

“But,” she continues, “the first time I felt anything at all was right at the beginning. Anya made us stare into each other’s eyes and talk about loving each other, and it worked better than she probably expected. I wasn’t ready back then for anything serious — not when I was eighteen and even more repressed than I am now. It’s probably a good thing I couldn’t name the feeling that day; it would’ve sent me into a tailspin. But I remember I was out of sorts for the rest of rehearsal. And then you followed me home like a lost puppy and we were back to being friends, and that was comfortable.”

“I should probably thank Anya,” he whispers, eyes alert on her face even through his fatigue. “It would be nice to have someone to thank who isn’t Finn for once. He’s still a huge asshole, even if his loss was entirely my gain.”

“If you thank Anya, she might actually projectile vomit on you. She only wants to deal with our feelings when they’re part of a performance and she needs us to have them to win.”

“She’ll be happy enough when we tell her we’re going back into competition that we might be able to slip the rest of it in without her really noticing.”

“Sounds good to me.”

* * *

Her mom, of all people, wins the bet for when they would finally get together. She freaks out when she learns of her victory, thrilled at the idea of rubbing it in Jake and Raven’s faces.

Being that the other two participants are successful engineers, they didn’t skimp out on the bet, and her prize is one thousand dollars. She doesn’t mention to anyone what she intends to spend it on, mainly because it isn’t all that important to her in the scheme of things. She’d only really wanted bragging rights in the group chat anyway.

* * *

The next several weeks are spent on the road, performing for audiences all over and meeting fans at each stop. Bellamy and Clarke smile for every photo and answer people’s questions about skating, the Olympics, and their friendship. And every night, they curl up together in the same hotel bed, exchanging kisses that belong only to them.

When they return home, Bellamy packs up his things and brings them to her apartment. Seeing his stuff — his clothes taking up half the closet, his book resting on the arm of the couch where he’d set it down to shower, his pans in the cupboard ready to cook — makes her happier than she can ever remember being.

“You know, we should probably look into a bigger place at some point. We both have enough money to not be trying to cram so much stuff into your bachelorette pad,” he jokes, poking her in the side.

“Yeah, probably. It’s a nice place, but too small between us and the dog. She really deserves more room to play.”

She’d always loved her apartment — it was small, and thus easy to clean, but didn’t feel tiny. Plus, the location had been hard to beat when she’d been waking up every day for five o’clock practices. At eighteen, it had been the perfect place for her. 

At nearly twenty-four, with a dog and a boyfriend who she can already see herself spending the rest of her life with, she needs to be thinking a little bit bigger. They can’t be tripping over each other forever.

She surveys the room, realizing just how tight things are at the moment. “Think we can find something before the year ends? It would be nice to be settled in somewhere before we start training next year. And that still gives us, like, six months? To find a new place? I don’t want to rush into something that we don’t really like only to have to move again in a year when the lease is up because it’s shit.”

He kisses the top of her head. “I think we can make it work until we find something we like. Let’s aim to be in a new apartment by Christmas.”

She nods, a smile warm on her face. “Silver by Worlds,” she says, remembering the first time she voiced that promise into the universe all those years ago. “And a new apartment by Christmas.”

He laughs. “Just keep speaking things into existence for us.”

“Hey, if it works…”

* * *

They spend all summer looking for an apartment, and the search goes considerably worse than they’d been hoping for. 

It’s not that there aren’t options, it’s just that everything is either ridiculously expensive for the amount of space on offer, or in terrible neighborhoods far away from the rink, or no better than her current place. It takes until the first week of October for her to realize it.

“Maybe we should just be looking at houses.”

“Houses?” He asks, setting his book down on the coffee table to give her his full attention.

“I don’t think we’re going to find a good apartment any time soon, and we wanted more space. So, houses.”

“Renting?” He looks down, a small, nervous smile on his face. “Or _buying?”_

“Either, I guess, depending on what we find. But I wouldn’t mind buying. We’re grown adults now.”

“That’s true,” he nods, baiting her to continue.

“With jobs and Nike sponsorships.”

“Uh huh.”

“And Agrippina would like having a yard.”

“She definitely would.”

“And I love you, and want to come home every night to our house.”

He shifts across her until they’re lying down on the couch, his body stretched over hers.

“So a house then?” He asks with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Yeah. Our house.”

“I love you too, Clarke,” he whispers, moving in to crush his lips against hers, his hand delving under her shirt.

They don’t manage to start checking Zillow listings until late the next morning.

Weirdly, despite all the pressures that come with first time home ownership, the process is far easier than trying to find an apartment, and at the beginning of December, they’re putting in a bid on the sweetest little three bedroom house only fifteen minutes from the rink.

They announce their return to competitive skating as soon as they close on the house, knowing that they will be focused enough on the process of moving to not worry about the internet’s reaction.

They don’t manage to get everything completely sorted by Christmas, and they end up spending the day with Raven and Murphy. They’re celebrating Raven’s relocation from Seattle to her company’s Portland office, and Bellamy and Clarke are happy to join in for a few bottles of champagne for the holidays. They also spend a few days with Octavia and Ilian, home from college and eager to talk all about their various misadventures.

It’s not exactly how they’d expected to spend their first Christmas as a couple, but when they curl up in bed in her tiny apartment with moving boxes everywhere, she can’t be mad.

“Happy year since I realized I was in love with you,” she mumbles into his shoulder, already half asleep.

His arm tightens around her, and he hides his smile in her hair.

“Merry Christmas, Princess.”

“Merry Christmas, Bell.”

* * *

**_2016_ **

They start their training up again formally in January, despite the fact that the other teams won’t actually be done with the previous season’s competitions until the first days of April. After taking two full years off and only skating as performers, there is a lot they need to do to get back into peak physical condition.

Anya is all too happy to be yelling at them and offering her trademark sarcastic comments again, and they’re happy to have her back. While Clarke’s loved having time off and space to figure out her life, there is something exciting about falling back into the best parts of her old routine. They’re at the rink or in the gym every day at the crack of dawn, skating next to teams they’ve known before and newer pairs who have moved up and are now hoping to best the old champions.

The buzz of competition thrills her, and though they have nearly a year before they’ll be fighting against these teams, she’s still excited to see what they can do. In the past, fellow American teams were never their biggest worry, but they’re getting older, and new pairs are aging out of the junior competitions and are ready to try their hand at taking gold.

Clarke’s not planning to let that happen. For all that she’s getting older and a little out of practice, she’s also one of the most decorated figure skaters out there, having started competing internationally so young. As long as her body doesn’t give out under her, she’s going to do everything she can to _destroy them._ In a ‘friendly competition’ way, of course.

It’s a very Abby Griffin way to think, but she can’t help but feel glad to have this edge returned to her. For all the stress it’s caused over the years, she revels in the fight. She wants to win, and she wants to earn that victory every step of the way.

The first months of the year pass in a blur of training and unpacking the house, which they do surprisingly slowly considering how much of a neat-freak Bellamy can be. They needed to buy a lot of new furniture, too, so it takes a while before the house really starts to feel lived in. But her apartment is gone — keys handed over in January when her lease was up — and despite the mess, she’s glad to be in a place that is truly their own.

It’s in their home that they watch Worlds, sitting on their couch with Agrippina while Lexa and Tristan take back first place. They hadn’t competed the year prior, as Lexa had taken time off for a knee surgery, but they were back this season with intent to dominate.

She hopes Lexa is enjoying their time back on top, because she fully intends to have a gold medal around her neck this time next year.

* * *

Although Raven and Murphy are now living together in Portland, their own move and Raven’s new job keep the pair busy. On top of that, Clarke’s parents aren’t able to visit for much of the spring, so they start planning a proper housewarming get-together for the summer. 

Although they’re in training again, summer is far enough in advance of competition season starting up that they can take some time off to host friends and family for a visit. Bellamy invites his mom and Octavia, who will be done for the semester in time to visit. They ask Anya to come as well, which she accepts by responding with a thumbs up emoji. Clarke extends invitations to some of the other skaters they’ve become friends with, though there aren’t all that many. She even manages to get one to Wells and Nia respectively, as she hasn’t had the chance to see either of them in ages.

They hadn’t intended for the party to grow in size, having assumed it would just be something small and simple, but the more Clarke thinks about it, the more she wants to have an excuse to see everyone again. It’s easy to forget sometimes how many people out there are in her corner, caring about her from a distance. Her family is spread out more than it used to be when she was just a girl in Michigan, and it’s nice to imagine them all under one roof — the roof she _owns_ like a real adult — for a little while.

The party is two weeks away when she has an idea.

“Hey,” she says, laying her head in his lap and staring up at him so there’s no chance of avoiding her.

“Hey.” 

He smiles, tugging at the neckline of the sweater that she so obviously stole from his side of the closet. He won’t call her out on it, and she knows it’s because he secretly loves seeing her in his clothing, but he likes to let her know that he’s _aware_ she’s slowly stealing everything he owns.

“How much do you love me?”

“A stupid amount,” he replies easily. “Why? What do you want?”

“Why do you assume I want something?”

“Nobody starts a conversation with _how much do you love me_ unless there’s something they want.”

She pouts. “I only wanted to float an idea by you, and you’re free to say no. All I really want is you anyway, so...”

He twirls one of her curls around his finger absentmindedly as he looks down at her. “You already have me, but okay — let’s hear it.”

Because all of Clarke’s ideas are amazing, he loves it instantly. It won’t even require that much effort — just a little cutting through red tape and a call to their good pal Murphy.

* * *

The day of the party is warm and cloudy, but not so overcast that the sun doesn’t show itself every now and then. The house is, after many months of chaos, finally in pristine condition.

(That’s because Bellamy had panicked two days prior to the party and made them clean it top to bottom, but Clarke just accepted his eccentricities with a smile and an eye roll).

They mingle for the first hour or so as guests trickle in. All told, about twenty-five people come, which is pretty impressive considering the fact that Bellamy and Clarke both have tiny families. Clarke is pleased to see her paternal grandparents have been able to make the trip alongside her mom and dad, as they are her last remaining close relatives. Bellamy has his mother and Octavia, the rest of his family either already passed or still living in the Philippines.

Their friends spill into the house loudly. and Murphy gives Bellamy a wink as he hands over a housewarming gift — a handle of tequila with a big bow on it.

“There’s a few more bottles where that came from, but I didn’t feel like carting them all in.”

Bellamy laughs, looking down at the bottle in his hands. “Thanks, man. Very on-brand for you.”

“I like to bring my own flair to things.”

“Maybe keep the flair to a contained level today?” Bellamy asks, patting Murphy on the back as he moves around him. “We knew what we were getting into with you, but we’re still hoping for a little decorum to shine through. It’s probably in there somewhere.”

Murphy just smirks, letting Bellamy move on to other guests.

* * *

After everyone has arrived, said hellos, and had some food, Bellamy tries very elegantly to get their attention by clinking a spare bit of cutlery against his glass. 

When that fails, Clarke raises a hand to her mouth and shouts, “Hey, everyone!”

“Smooth,” Bellamy whispers to her.

“Effective.”

The assembled party turns to face them, having amassed mostly in the living room and kitchen.

“So,” Clarke starts. “We’re really glad you could all make it today. We kind of fell into home ownership, but it’s a nice excuse to invite you all for a visit.”

“We’re great at falling into things,” Bellamy remarks. He’s only really speaking to Clarke, but his voice is loud enough that it carries. “Relationships, home ownership, _dot dot dot.”_

She elbows him. _“Anyway,_ we thought… while you’re all already here…”

Raven raises an eyebrow from the front of the group, her face pinched. “Fuck.”

Clarke squints at her in confusion. “Sorry — what?”

“This better not be going where I think it’s going.”

“Why?”

Her lips tighten for a second. “I’m happy for you — but I have a bad feeling I’m about to lose another bet.”

Bellamy waves his hand. “Sad, but your fault. Anyway, not to turn this into an ambush or anything, but we figured that you’re all already here, and we’d really like to get married.” His face breaks out into a smile, dazzling and bright, as his arm snakes around Clarke.

“Today?!” Raven asks in alarm.

“Yeah, today. So, uh… surprise?” Clarke adds, looking out at the people around her.

Raven’s eyes are wide. “Oh, I thought it was an engagement party. This is a completely different bet.”

Jake comes up to hug them immediately, a tear in his eye as he tells them how happy he is. He’s always liked Bellamy, after all.

Octavia freaks out, complaining that he should’ve warned her so she could’ve worn something nicer than a summer dress and her leather jacket. He just shrugs, telling her she looks good enough to stand with him as his best man, and that triggers a hug that has her forgetting all about her clothing dilemma.

“So you’re really doing this?” Abby asks Clarke as she pulls her aside for a hug.

“We’re really doing this. Are you okay with that? I know we haven’t been together all that long in the scheme of things — only a little over a year now. But we’ve known each other for years and I’m sure that he’s it for me and—”

“Clarke,” her mother says, laughing as she grabs her by the shoulders to stop her rambling. “I’m okay with it. I’m really happy for you and Bellamy. Plus it’s not that unexpected. I bet that you’d elope though, so I guess I didn’t win the _how they get married_ bet. I’m glad losing means that we at least get to be here with you for your wedding.”

“You thought we’d elope?” Clarke asks, surprise in her voice. 

“Yeah. I assumed you’d run off basically right after you started dating, honestly. I saved the money I won in the _when will they get together_ bet to gift to you as part of your wedding present. So I guess I’m the only person here who actually came to this ceremony prepared with a gift.”

“Murphy’s prepared,” she says, pointing over at him as he downs the rest of his beer on the other side of the room. “He’s officiating.”

Abby’s eyes flick to Murphy and back, showing some amount of displeasure. “You’re letting John Murphy marry you? Was that the smartest decision?”

“He was the only friend we knew who was already ordained. In fairness, he’s a priest in the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, but the ordination is shockingly real. We figured it was easier than finding someone else to get ordained on short notice.”

“Doesn’t it take, like, twenty minutes to get ordained online?” Abby asks, shooting another dubious look to Murphy. “There’s still time to have someone sub in.”

Clarke laughs, kissing her mom on the cheek. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Fine is, of course, relative.

They don’t have to do much to prepare in the lead-up; Clarke and Bellamy had already set up the backyard, which hadn’t yet been visited by the party, to easily seat the two dozen guests. There is nothing overly fancy — just a small arch they’d put together when they were feeling especially high on pinterest DIY tips. Luckily Bellamy wasn’t too bad with light woodwork, so they’d managed something that looked decent once they’d decorated it with flowers.

Clarke changes quickly into a different dress — white this time, but not too fancy. She likes the casual nature of the whole affair. After all, she and Bellamy were essentially dating before they’d ever admitted to having feelings for each other. Since getting together the year prior, they’ve always felt certain that it would lead to marriage, and she wants it to be now. 

She doesn’t need an elaborate mess of a day that she’d inevitably spend feeling stressed and hungry. No — she just needs her family, her friends, and Bellamy Blake.

Raven walks down the aisle before her as the maid of honor, a pretty bouquet in her hands. The skin-tight skinny jeans and tank top she’s rocking are non-traditional, but she looks perfect as she goes.

Then, Jake takes Clarke’s arm in order to escort her to Bellamy.

It’s not even a long aisle, which is the funny thing to Clarke. They didn’t have enough guests or chairs to make it long, and their backyard is really only so big anyhow. It takes maybe twelve steps to get from where she walks out of the house to the ‘altar’, but somehow Bellamy manages to find enough time to start crying before she’s even made it to the end.

He laughs as he tries to keep the tears reigned in, the sound a little wet and a lot joyful. She kisses her father’s cheek before he moves to sit next to Abby, and Clarke takes Bellamy’s hands. She reaches up to wipe away a stray tear, a tender feeling coursing through her all the while.

She’s always known just how lucky she is to be loved by this man, but there’s nothing that she’s more certain of at this moment than him. There never could’ve been anyone else.

Murphy, who luxuriates in the spotlight, takes his time milking the introduction — thanking everyone for being here on this illustrious day to join him in the celebration of Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake. Everyone just rolls their eyes and lets him have his moment, while the bride and groom grin at each other goofily, too happy to care.

She lets him wax poetic about the meaning of love and finding our soulmates and several other tangents that Clarke has helpfully tuned out before they finally get to the vows. It’s the only part that Murphy is required to shut up for.

“Clarke, would you like to start?”

For a split second, her brain’s auto-response is _no, thanks._ Not because she isn’t desperate to be married to this man, but because there’s something so awkward and uncomfortable about spilling her guts in front of an audience. It makes her wish — only a little bit — that they had eloped.

But then she remembers that she loves Bellamy and all of their guests. She’s spent years learning to be vulnerable, and now is the time to put all that effort to good use.

She nods, squeezing Bellamy’s hands in her own.

“Bellamy, I—” she says before stopping to clear her throat, already feeling a little choked up. “We used to joke that we only ever said nice things about each other in press conferences, and that was only because it was what reporters expected.”

She pauses, glancing away from him for a moment to turn her eyes to the audience before they again settle on his face.

“But I figure our wedding day is probably an exception to that rule, so you’ll have to deal with me saying something sappy and embarrassing.

“When I moved here at eighteen, I was so lost. About who I was, and what I wanted, and if it was even worth it to continue skating, which was my whole life in those days. I didn’t know what I’d be without that part of my life, but it was making me so miserable.

“I remember thinking how lucky it was that you needed a partner at the exact right time that I needed a fresh start — but really it was so much more than that. I needed a best friend and someone to hold my hand when things went wrong, and you were always the one I wanted to be doing those things.

“And things went wrong a lot — little, inconsequential things sometimes, but also huge and important things, too. And you were always right there with me, making sure I never had to deal with any of it alone. You gave up your career when I needed you to, and then followed me back into it when I was ready. You’ve always put me first, and I want to be able to give you that same kind of love.”

She pulls one of his hands up, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. A few stray tears spill over onto his cheeks, but his smile is wide.

“I’m not lost anymore. I know exactly who I am and what I want, and that’s you. Wherever we are, whatever we decide to do next, I’ll be happy because it’ll be with you beside me.”

Her own tears start to bubble over, and she hastily tries to wipe them away, laughing at herself all the while. “I love you, Bellamy. A really stupid, ridiculous amount. And I’m glad that I’ll get to spend the rest of my life loving you and working towards our goals together.”

Bellamy doesn’t even wait, cupping her cheeks to pull her in for a kiss. Murphy lets out a shocked little _Bellamy!_ while clutching at non-existent pearls. The rest of their assembled audience just laughs.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“I don’t think we’re done, Bell,” she laughs. 

He quickly pulls away to take her hands again, like he thinks that adopting the same pose somehow means that no one noticed. She smirks at him.

 _“Bellamy,”_ Murphy says pointedly. “If you’d like to say your vows now. Using words only, please.”

He nods.

“There’s a lot that I want to say, but I’ll try to keep it short.”

He has to pause at Octavia’s loud and unabashed snort from behind him.

“Short by my standards, anyway. Clarke, I’ve loved you for so long that there’s a part of me that’s sure this can’t be real. Things for us have always fallen into place exactly when they were meant to, and I know that this is the right time, but I’m still a little bit amazed that I made it this far at all. You’re all the best parts of my life, and I’m so lucky to get to be in the best parts of yours.

“We invited everyone here to celebrate our new house, and living here in a place that’s really _ours_ has been such a gift, but I would’ve been happy anywhere with you. I was at home in a hotel in Disneyland, or in the empty Olympic Village rooms, or in Boston before a competition, or Paris, or any of the dozens of places we’ve traveled together in the last six years. I’d be happy on the ice or sitting on the couch in your old apartment, because I’m at home wherever you are. And that’s all I want, really — to spend my life next to you until we’re old and gray and sharing a porch swing, remembering all of our favorite memories together.

“You said you aren’t lost anymore, and I’m glad — because if you're lost, then I’m right behind you, getting lost too. But if we lose our way again, I’m glad that it’ll be together. Everything’s easier to manage when I’m with you.”

He pulls one of his hands away quickly to brush his fingers against her temple, pushing back a stray curl.

“I love you a stupid, ridiculous, embarrassing amount too. We have so many happy memories behind us, and all the time in the world to make as many new ones as possible — as husband and wife.”

“Love you,” she whispers, staring up at him.

“Love you too, Princess.”

“God that was gross,” Murphy murmurs, and Clarke is fairly certain that only she and Bellamy could hear it. The sentiment makes a laugh bubble out of her with surprise.

“Yeah, we know.”

“Rings?” He asks, deflecting attention while looking between the couple.

“O?” Bellamy turns around, waiting while Octavia pulls them out of her jacket pocket.

There are three rings sitting in the little black, velvet box that she hands to Bellamy: a silver ring, plain on the outside but containing the letters _CG_ inside; a second silver ring, smaller and daintier with the initials _BB_ engraved; and a matching engagement ring with a simple, pretty oval solitaire.

They’d only spent two weeks engaged, but he was so excited to buy her a ring that she couldn’t possibly say no.

Murphy gestures for them to continue, so she takes out Bellamy’s ring and carefully puts it on him. For some reason, the sight of it on his hand, the place it’ll always be, is finally what sends her over into open weeping, and he laughs and he tries to brush them away for her without messing up her makeup.

“I’m good,” she smiles, proffering her own hand to him.

Bellamy kisses her ring finger before sliding the two rings onto it.

“Do you, Clarke Griffin, take Bellamy Blake to be your husband?”

“I do,” she says, silent tears still carefully tracking their way down her cheeks.

“And do you, Bellamy Blake, take Clarke Griffin to be your wife?”

“I do.” His eyes never leave her face, enraptured.

“I swear we have a marriage license,” Murphy says to their little audience, “but we’re gonna steal witnesses away for that later. So in the meantime, I now pronounce you husband and wife. _Now_ you may kiss the bride.”

Bellamy doesn’t need any further permission, leaning in immediately to sink his fingers into Clarke’s hair and pull her in for the kiss.

“Jesus, get a room,” Murphy mutters, but Clarke’s pretty sure he’s smiling.

(She’s not going to bother looking, though. There are more important things to do at the moment.)

* * *

The weird thing about ~~falling in love with~~ being married to Bellamy Blake is how nothing really changes in the aftermath.

Well, that’s not entirely true; there are lots of exciting little changes. Bellamy never stops bragging about his _wife,_ which always makes her feel fluttery to hear. She starts going by Mrs. Blake privately, though she keeps Griffin as her professional name. They redecorate their bedroom, put up a prettily painted mailbox, and consider adding another dog to the family.

But in the biggest ways, being married to Bellamy is just like not being married to him. He always eases the pain of hearing the alarm at four thirty by giving her a forehead kiss. He cooks each evening and she washes up after. When they are at rehearsal, Anya still has to tell them to stop goofing off.

Nothing at the core is different at all, but the joy she feels every time she looks at her wedding ring is unparalleled.

Incidentally, they often find themselves taking the rings off, especially in the lead up to Nationals. Attention is suddenly back on them for the first time in a long while, and they take a page out of an old playbook: talk up their friendship and avoid all dating questions.

When they’d made that move in the past, it was because it was both the truth and something they were too awkward to address to each other directly. Now, they just figure they aren’t in a rush to tip off their fans. One day it’ll inevitably be made public — she can’t reasonably be expected to keep her hands off her husband forever — but right now they just want to focus on their return to skating.

Their marriage is just for them, and that’s exactly how she likes it.

* * *

**_2017_ **

At the end of March, they find themselves deplaning after eighteen hours between flights and airports. She’s never been to Finland before, but Helsinki is mostly how she’d imagined it. There isn’t any snow on the ground so late in the season, but it’s cold, reminding her a little of Sochi. 

Her brain is about twelve timezones off where it needs to be, though, so the weather just has her wanting to curl up under an uncomfortable hotel duvet with Bellamy to sleep for a few hundred hours.

They’d taken gold at US Nationals in January, something which wasn’t all that unexpected but still felt like a relief. In the two years they’d been gone, they had neither lost their edge nor had the gap they’d left behind closed by another American team. Certainly it had given her a boost of confidence going forward to know that they were still America’s best.

Four Continents had been similar, and they’d managed another first place finish, though Lexa and Tristan hadn’t been there. Clarke wasn’t sure of the details, but she had heard that someone was recovering from a small injury, and it was more important to be in top shape for Worlds than to compete at Four Continents and potentially reinjure something.

This will be the first time they’ve competed against their rivals since the Olympic win two years prior, and it’s the only season before the upcoming 2018 Olympic games in PyeongChang. This will be their one chance to see if they can still score favorably against the best of the best.

So Clarke is just a little bit nervous about the whole thing.

But when they wake up on competition day, Bellamy gives her the same forehead kiss as always, and then a few extra for good luck.

It’s different than before once they’re at the rink. Sure, they might not be making out in front of cameras, but there is the constant knowledge of his presence just next to her. Whatever happens, whatever they go through — it’ll be together. Even if she falls on her face, he’ll still be there.

Standing just behind the boards, she hears the announcers reading off their names — still _Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake,_ and she holds onto her little secret like a gift as they skate to center ice.

When they’ve posed themselves for the opening sequence, she flicks her eyes to Bellamy’s, giving him a covert smile.

And then the music starts, and they dance.

* * *

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND OBVIOUSLY THEY WON GOLD AT WORLDS.
> 
> Sorry for the fanfiction slander — obviously I love it, but let's be real. Clarke would hate RPF and you know it.
> 
> Like I said above, this story is technically complete, but there will be an epilogue about the 2018 Olympics. It'll be posted as another chapter (not as a separate story in an ao3 series), so if you want to read that when it's available, I'd suggest either subscribing to the story with the button at the top, or leaving this tab open, or using whatever chaos organization system you have to keep your fics in order.
> 
> Thanks for joining me for my first attempt at fic writing. It's been such a blast, and I'm so excited to keep going with my other wips and future ideas.
> 
> Comments, no matter how far in the future you may be reading this, will provide me a full day of serotonin — just saying :)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/andiebwrites) for writing updates.


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